#soaps husband comes looking for him but ghost still has his contacts and calls a whole militia down on his head | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

d0youc0py · 2 years ago

Note

I am ✨obsessed✨ with your page rn and would absolutely devour literally anything you give us.

I’d love to see your take on a kidnap/break in fic though!

Something like they’re coming home from deployment and their girlfriend/wife calls them (or laswell) freaking out about a weird car outside, or someone following them home.

Just damsel in distress x protective husband vibes all the way 💕

“If we’re gonna go after them we’ve got to do it tonight. They’re expecting us to wait till they get further south.”

“What about all the civilians in the city?”

“No explosives. Everyone keep your silencers on. They won’t know till mornin’.”

“Ghost has a point. If we wait till next week our chances of hittin’ ‘em are slim. They aren’t expecting it now.”

“Yeah, they aren’t expecting it because it’s too damn risky. We do it tonight they have home advantage. We wait- all of us are on an even playing field.”

“They outnumber us 10-1. We’ll never be even.”

A knock at the door halted the conversation. A errand boy stuck his head in.

“Sorry to interrupt but this came for Lieutenant Ghost. Labeled urgent.” He held out a yellow package for Ghost.

“Thanks.” Price nodded his head, politely dismissing him.

“Johnny I’ve dealt with groups like this before.” Ghost spoke tearing open the flap of the package. “We need to get ‘em while their sitting pretty.” He blindly reached his hand into the package, his brow furrowing when he touched something soft. He pulled out a clump of hair.

His right leg gave out and he grabbed the table to steady himself.

“Ghost?” Price questioned. He gripped Ghost arms to steady him- and also urge him to give him an answer.

“No.” Ghost mumbled. He ripped open the rest of the package frantically searching for any sign that this was a prank. It couldn’t be real. Couldn’t be. “No.” He growled out. He pushed his way out the door his whole body shaking from anger and distress. The rest of the 141 followed quickly behind him. “Laswell.” She jumped as the door slammed open. “What the fuck is this?” The sight of him was enough to send a spike of fear through her heart. He threw the package with your hair on the table in front of her.

“Oh no.” Her eyes were wide and she wracked her brain for any answer she could give him.

“You said it would be alright.” He was seething at the point. Tears welled up in his eyes and he couldn’t be bothered to hide them. The air felt like it was being choked out of the room. Everyone’s skin was crawling. “You said they couldn’t trace her.”

Laswell looked over at Price for some relief, but he had not the slightest clue as to what was going on- or how to fix it. Just that Ghost was more worked up than he’d ever seen. Even Soap was shifting nervously from foot to foot.

“What going on?” Price asked. Ghost growled not answering the question, his eyes still trained on Laswell.

“I didn’t think they could.” She said calmly. “I didn’t enter it into the computer- it’s in your file, but not electronically.”

“Someone clarify what’s going on.” Price snapped.

“Ghost, let’s not jump to conclusions. Are we even sure this is Y/N’s hair?” Laswell tried to soothe.

“You think I don’t know my wife’s hair?” Ghost gritted. Wide eyes and jaws hung open around the room.

“Wife?” Soap whispered.

“Yes, my wife.” Ghost affirmed. “After I had that accident a few months ago I thought it would be a good idea to finally make her my emergency contact. So if I died she wouldn’t be locked up in the house waitin’ for me.” He explained. “You told me it was safe.”

“It is. They had to have gotten her info somewhere else.” Laswell insisted. “I’ll start tracking her down. You need to calm down.”

“Fuck off.” Ghost sneered. Price gave him a warning shoulder shove.

“We’ll go see if we can find anything on our end.” Price sighed.

•••••••••••

It only took an hour to find you. Gaz was able to PinPoint your location- conveniently the sight they were debating on hitting tonight. They could barely keep up as Ghost began to load up. The odds weren’t great for them. They knew they were coming, they were outnumbered and they had a hostage- who they knew at least one of the team members would die for in a heartbeat.

“Ghost you need to keep your cool. Stick to the plan. You can’t help her if you’re dead.” Price was trying to talk him through it. Ghost had completely shut down. He’s had nightmares just like this before. You being tortured- just the way he had been. He swallowed back bile just thinking about it. He paced back and forth on the plane, growling and grumbling like a caged bear.

They were ready for the 141. All waiting patiently in their places ready to take down the infamous task force. Smirks spread across their faces and they could practically taste the celebratory dinner that awaited them. What they weren’t ready for was the absolute hell that was about to be unleashed on them.

They all had just stepped off the plane before Ghost was blowing through people like they were paper. Soap would bet his life on the fact that he saw Ghost go through a wall at one point. He wasn’t sticking to the plan. He was moving at inhuman speed. It was impossible to keep up with him.

“Found her. Back building, fourth floor second door on the left.” Soap’s voice rang through the comms.

“Hey, I’m a friend of Ghost’s.” Johnny spoke softly. You seemed to be relatively unharmed. When Johnny pried open the door he caught a glimpse of you diving under a small cot- your hair peaking out from under it.

“I’ve told you I don’t know who that is.” You murmured. He could hear the fear in your voice. Johnny sat down a few feet away from the bed.

“Oh right.” He whispered. “A friend of Simon’s.” Soap corrected. Your head peaked out from the bed. You had a bruise on your cheek- a slap mark?

“Simon?” You repeated slowly. Soap nodded his head. “Johnny?” You asked. Soap smiled.

“So he does talk about me.” His humor was wasted on you, but it did calm you a bit. Suddenly Ghost practically tumbled through the door. You shrieked not realizing who it was and dove back under the bed.

“Sweetheart.” Ghost quickly ripped off his mask, (not wanting to scare you more) laying on his stomach to get a look at you. You shot out from under the bed wrapping every limb you could around him. His hand gripped the back of your head pressing your forehead against his lips. “I’m sorry.” He pressed a few quick kisses against your head, before pulling away, worried eyes scanning all over you.

“I’m fine.” You assured. You had been lucky- well as lucky as one could be in this situation. Your worst wound was a slap to the cheek and a shitty haircut. The worst part was the fear. Fear of what they would do to you. Now that Simon was here you were at ease. His fingers skimmed over your cheek. “Got that because I bit a chunk out of someone’s hand.” You smirked.

“Good Girl.” He growled, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “We’ve got to get out of here, yeah? I’m goin’ put my mask back on and you’re going to stay between me and Johnny, understand?” You nodded your head, while Johnny was still reeling from all the affection Ghost had displayed.

Safe to say the mission was a success.

*ring*

“Sweetheart?”

You thank the stars above that John always picked up on the first ring.

“Not to worry you”-

“You need me to come get you?”

“No, can you meet me somewhere? There’s a red car that’s been following me and I don’t want to lead it to our house.” You explained, checking in your rearview mirror. Sure enough, a bright, red sports car was bearing down on you.

“Go to the coffee shop. Don’t park until you see my car in the parking lot. Don’t hang up either.”

“Affirm.” You snickered. John was in absolutely no mood to joke with you. You could hear the sound of his car starting.

“Hope I don’t have to get in a fight tonight. Only wearing my boxers and a shirt.” He wasn’t trying to be funny, but it still made you laugh.

“Could’ve thrown a pair of pants on.” You commented.

“If the difference between you being worm food and you being alright was me wrestling with a pair of jeans I’d never forgive myself.” He grumbled.

“I’ll be fine John. Captain’s coming to save me.” Normally he would melt at that but he was too focused dodging in and out of cars. You could hear a horn from over the phone. “Please be safe.” You sighed. “I’m here.” He said suddenly. Your eyes glanced to your phone. You had only been on the phone for seven minutes and it took at least fifteen to get to the coffee shop from your house.

“Don’t worry about it.” He said as if he could read your mind.

“It’s still following me John.” You whispered. Your fingers dug nervously into the steering wheel.

“Don’t get scared on me now, Sweetheart. How far away are you?”

“Ten minutes?” You weren’t entirely sure. “I can take a shortcut through the neighborhood.”

“No.” He interjected. “Stay on main roads with traffic. Doesn’t matter how long it takes for you to get here, just make sure you stay with people.” You nodded your head. “You hear me?”

“Yes sorry. I nodded my head but you couldn’t see that.”

“I’m standing outside the car. Pull up next to me, don’t get out, I’ll get your door for you.” He had his Captains voice on. You wondered if this was how team briefings went.

“You always get my door for me.” You smiled.

“Damn right I do.” He scoffed. “But it’s important this time. I don’t just want to leave your car in the lot because who knows what type of things they’ll put on it.”

“Like a tracker?”

He hummed in agreement.

“You’re scaring me John.” You gulped.

“Don’t need to be scared. I won’t let anything happen to you, you know that. Just want you to be aware of what’s gonna happen when you park. Just stay in your car, yes?” His voice was calm. Like he had done this a million times before. You nodded your head again. “Did you nod your head again?” You swore you could hear a chuckle.

“Yes, sorry. I understand.” Time seems to slow as you finally pulled into the cafe parking lot. It hadn’t closed yet people still wandering in and out even as the sun has set. You were surprised no one noticed the large man in a pair of light blue boxers and white t-shirt. A t-shirt so thin you could see his chest hair. You did as he told and pulled up right next to him. The red car pulled in right next to you. Your eyes quickly fled to your left to look at John. He had a look on his face you weren’t familiar with.

The sound of the red car door opening caught your attention. A medium sized man stepped out. He just looked greasy. He shut his door and began walking over to your side of the car, seemingly not noticing John.

John met him in the middle, using one hand to grab him by his shirt and slam him against the hood of his own car. You covered your mouth, your eyes going wide. John’s face hovered over his. You couldn’t hear anything that was said, but when John finally let him go the man scrambled to get back into his severely dented car. John stood at the front of the car as he started it up and ripped out of the parking lot.

John tapped at your window signaling for you to unlock your door.

“You alright?” He checked, crouching down to your level. You eyes were still wide and you slowly nodded.

“What did you say?” You mumbled. John took your shaky hands with his, pressing a kiss against your palms.

“That’s a secret.” He smirked. “Didn’t scare you too bad did I?” He asked softly. His brows furrowed and he ran a hand up and down your arm.

“Honestly?”

His face paled. He hadn’t thought about scaring you. He didn’t think he acted too rash. In fact he was holding back.

“Honestly.” He affirmed.

“That was really hot.” You admitted, a hot blush across your face. His face went blank for a moment before a wide smirk crossed his face.

“Then we better get home.” He murmured, pressing a kiss against your shoulder. “Safe to drive?”

“Yes!” You said a little too enthusiastic.

You’re so sweet! I absolutely loved this request and probably went a little overboard. I was only able to fit Ghost and Price in this but would gladly do this with the rest of the 141 and other cod characters! Hope you liked it and thank you for making my day!

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ibijau · 4 years ago

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“Stop borrowing flowers out of my garden to woo people who don’t even treat you right.” said by Jiang Cheng! Hm, could you make this mingcheng???

This one got away from me so it’s a tiny bit longer than the usual, oops?

The problem was that strictly speaking, it wasn’t a garden. It was just a patch of dirt on the side of a long abandoned construction project that had never been completed due to lack of funds, or embezzlement, or some other bullshit that Jiang Cheng had never cared enough about to try and find out.

It wasn’t a garden.

But Jiang Cheng had been planting flowers there, out of sheer boredom, because he lived right next door and missed the greeneries of his parents’ house. Their garden had always been gorgeous, perfectly maintained by his mother, an absolute work of art. It was the only place she seemed happy. It was the only thing Jiang Cheng missed about his old life. Those quiet moments when his mother, in a fit of good mood, took him around her garden, her one true love, and explained to him about the plants and how to best care for them. People in their circle would sometimes joke that Zu Ziyuan loved her garden more than her family.

Jiang Cheng had never found it funny. Perhaps because he knew what it was like to envy mulberry leaves for the tenderness with which Yu Ziyuan would remove caterpillars from them, when she could hardly be near her son without pushing him around.

For a while, Jiang Cheng had hated gardens. That wasn’t the whole reason why he’d moved to the city, but it had probably impacted his choice anyway. He’d wanted to get as far away from his parents’ life as he could.

But in the end, something must have run in his blood. After months of walking by that abandoned patch of dirt, Jiang Cheng had given in one day. He’d bought some bulbs and seeds, a beginner’s guide to gardening, and set out to work.

It had surprised him when flowers actually started growing. Jiang Cheng was used to failure, and his mother used to tell him he had no skill for gardening. No skill for anything really, but gardening in particular seemed to piss her off.

But there were some wallflowers and geraniums to prove she’d been wrong about this.

About other things too, perhaps. For the time being, Jiang Cheng just clung to the gardening thing.

The entire first week after the flowers started growing, Jiang Cheng expected that whoever owned the plot of land would come to pour bleach on them. It was private property after all. But the plot appeared to be fully abandoned, and that meant Jiang Cheng was free to do as he pleased.

He got more flowers, making sure to pick varieties that were good for bees, because that would make his sister happy, if he ever got around to calling her. He also planted tomatoes, and after hesitation a few courgettes, because those grew like weeds and it wouldn’t matter if someone stole a few, or even all of them. It was the sort of things that’d make his brother happy, except he talked to him even less than to his sister, so Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure why that mattered.

What mattered was that the garden made him happy in a way he hadn’t been in a while. It gave him something to care about. To care for. Something to check on in the morning as he headed out to work, a place to spend a little time when he came home. It encouraged some of the neighbours to chat with him, when up until then they’d apparently half wondered if he was a serial killer with his constant angry face. The little old lady next door asked if she could borrow some of the vegetables growing, and gave him half the dish she made using them.

It felt like a homecooked meal, in a way the family gatherings he still occasionally attended never did.

“You should try planting daylilies,” she suggested. “Pretty and delicious, it’d be a win. My grandmother used to prepare them for us, I’m sure I can remember how to do it too.”

Jiang Cheng did as she asked, and sweet old madam Wen delivered on her promise when the flowers were ready. She invited Jiang Cheng to have lunch with him one Sunday, when her nephew and niece were there. It should have been awkward, but madam Wen was a cheerful old lady that managed to get all three of them chatting as if they’d always known each other.

Better than if they’d always known each other, in Jiang Cheng’s case.

He ended up trading phone numbers with both siblings. Not because he felt like flirting with either, as their aunt so clearly hoped for, but so he knew who to contact if something happened to the old lady. Wen Qing wasn’t very chatty, except to complain about their roommate from hell, but Wen Ning often asked for photos of the garden, and in exchange sent Jiang Cheng pictures of the dogs he got to see at the veterinary clinic where he worked.

For the first time in years, Jiang Cheng felt that things weren’t so bad.

So when one evening after work he dropped by his garden and saw a stranger in an expensive thought pacing by his courgettes, Jiang Cheng felt a familiar dread. If this was the plot’s owner, if he had come to ruin things…

Jiang Cheng rushed ahead, ready to plead his case.

Then stopped after a few steps when the man turned his way. He was handsome. Very handsome. The sort of handsome that belonged on the pages of a magazine, not in the middle of Jiang Cheng’s shitty illegal garden.

The man was also on the phone with someone, and apparently so deep in an argument that he didn’t even see Jiang Cheng just a few metres from him.

“You are the worst,” the man shouted at his phone, “and I swear I’m kicking you out this time. I will… no, don’t cry. Stop crying, it doesn’t work anymore! You…”

The handsome stranger started pacing nervously between the courgettes as whoever was on the other end of the conversation made their case.

“Listen, you are going to calm down, ok? I’m… hey, I’m bringing you flowers. How does that sound?”

He leaned down toward the daylilies, not yet picking one as he waited for the other person to reply.

“Of course real flowers. You… listen, I don’t have the energy for this. We’ll deal with it when I get home.”

The man hung up, and started tearing away Jiang Cheng’s flowers, roots and all, like a barbarian.

Jiang Cheng had always allowed everyone to take what they wanted or needed, but only if they showed some respect for his efforts.

“Stop borrowing flowers out of my garden to woo people who don’t even treat you right!” he barked, stomping toward the man.

The handsome stranger, startled, dropped the flowers.

“Your garden? What do you mean, your garden?”

“You think this got here on its own?” Jiang Cheng asked, gesturing at his garden. It wasn’t as beautiful as his mother’s, but it was his all the same and it loved his plants.

The man looked around with wide eyes, as if he hadn’t even noticed before where he was.

“Sorry, I thought they were just… wild flowers. Did you plant all of those?”

“Not the pumpkins, that’s the kids from down the streets who thought it’d be fun. And the herbs are madam Wen’s because she doesn’t like getting them from the store if she can get fresh ones. But the rest is mine.”

“Must have been a lot of work,” the man said with an admirative whistle. “I can make a cactus die of thirst, so I’m impressed, you must be really good. You’ve been at it for a while?”

“A couple months,” Jiang Cheng grumbled, refusing to let praise from a handsome man get to him. “I live next door and this place has been abandoned for ages apparently.”

“So it’s not your garden,” the stranger noted with a grin. “Well, if you’ve stolen the land, I feel less bad about stealing flowers. It’s not like you can call the cops on me.”

He bent down, ready to slaughter more flowers, so Jiang Cheng did the logical thing and pushed him to protect his daylilies. The handsome stranger fell in the dirt, which thankfully was dry and wouldn’t stain too badly. Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure he could afford to repay that suit.

“If you’re going to steal my flowers for your shitty manipulative wife, at least do it properly. Nobody wants a bouquet with roots.”

The man blinked a few times, a little disoriented after being pushed down. When he saw Jiang Cheng grab the torn daylilies and carefully cut the stems so he could replant the roots, the stranger laughed.

“You’re really passionate about this, uh,” he said, standing up and wiping the dirt from his suit. “That wasn’t my wife on the phone, by the way.”

“Your manipulative husband then,” Jiang Cheng retorted, cutting a few more flowers.

“Little brother,” the man corrected. “Apparently he got drunk last week, slept with my best friend, panicked, ghosted him, left town for five days to hide at his best friend’s house, and now he’s… ah, but you probably don’t care.”

Jiang Cheng shouldn’t care, no, but he couldn’t help laughing at the crazy story. It sounded like something right out of a shitty soap opera, or the kind of bullshit that Wei Wuxian used to pull all the time, back when he was still part of Jiang Cheng’s life.

“My brother’s the same,” Jiang Cheng said, handing out the small bouquet he’d managed to salvage. “Did you take those so he can go apologise to your friend?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure if he’s going to give them to Xichen or if he just wants to keep them to feel spoiled. I’m not sure I’ll give them to him, anyway. It’s not every day a handsome man gives me a bouquet, I’ll be tempted to keep it.”

Jiang Cheng shrugged and rolled his eyes, and absolutely did not blush like a schoolgirl being complimented by her crush.

“Just go give those to your brother. And learn to cut flowers properly, asshole.”

“If I drop by again, will you teach me?”

Jiang Cheng shrugged again and turned away, so it wouldn’t be too obvious just how red his face was. He’d have slapped himself if he could have. It was ridiculous to react so strongly. His only excuse was that the man was really, really gorgeous and had a really, really nice voice… and that it had been a long while since anyone had flirted with him, even this badly.

“Maybe I will, if I can find the time. My life’s not a fucking soap opera but I have my own stuff to do.”

“Fair enough. Well, I hope I’ll see you around. It was nice talking to you.”

Jiang Cheng shrugged, and refused to turn around to watch that too handsome man go, though he might have been slightly tempted.

He’d lost enough time to that asshole already, and the tomatoes weren’t going to water themselves.

#mingcheng #jiang cheng #nie mingjue #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #jau writes #nmj probably owns that plot of land #tbh I'd be almost tempted to expand on this but blarg modern au...#Anonymous

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clonewarslover55 · 4 years ago

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Even though I’m pretty sure I know almost all the answers already 😂 Rose and Vau for the ship questions?

Hell yeah!!!! (I fucking love you lol)

Find Memoires here or here

Find the game here

(It’s pretty long so see the answers below!!)

who hogs the duvet

Mird does, of course!! They blame one another anyways though, because they do both try to hog it.

who texts/rings to check how their day is going

They don’t do this till later in their relationship, like when they’re established. But it’s mostly Vau who does this, believe it or not. Mainly because he’s the one that’s away to war more often, while Rose is bounty hunting.(for the most part) So Vau likes to stay in touch.

Rose is the type of person that accidently ghosts people too. She just forgets she can contact people and ignores her shit unless it’s Vau. Well....Sometimes when it’s Vau.

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts

Defiantly Vau! Rose is the type of person to give him a cool rock or something she found(Of course he keeps the rock) But Vau is the type to steal pretty jewelry from dead bodies, search markets, etc. Rose will do that sometimes as well, but it’s something Vau does a lot more.

He also knows what she likes. Walon is hard to “shop” for. Rose is not lol

who gets up first in the morning

Walon does, mainly because he has a hard time sleeping. His nightmares and such usually keep him awake. Rose usually sleeps fine, and likes to sleep in. Sometimes in the morning Vau just watches Rose sleep. Not in a creepy way, it just calms him down. Sometimes he just doesn’t believe she’s real, because he doesn’t deserve her affections.

who suggests new things in bed

Oh this is a hard one! Both are kinky as fuck and horny. Am I allowed to say both? Because it’s defiantly both of them.

who cries at movies

Neither of them, they’re just not that emotional. Especially Vau.

When Rose is pregnant though? She cries during any movie.

who gives unprompted massages

Rose does! She’s random like that.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick

Mird does

They both do it to one another, more so Vau than Rose though. He fusses over her all the time anyways, making sure she eats enough and all that. So when she’s sick he doesn’t leave her alone really. Rose pretends to hate being fussed over.

When Vau is sick Rose gives him some more tough love. “aww poor fool. Someone who should’ve listened to his wife-” Things like that, but she makes sure to take care of him. She annoys him while doing it too.

who gets jealous easiest

Oh this is another tricky one!! It’s nearly a tie they’re both so possessive.

But I’d have to say Rose! Especially when she's pregnant. She doesn’t keep him on a short leash though, because she trusts him. But she still watches those around him closely.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music

Walon Vau and his classical ass.

He’ll listen to really anything. He seems like a metal and rock dude to me.....But his favorite is classical music. Instrumental things. Star Wars Beethoven and Bach.

who collects something unusual

Rose and her too many blades and sharp objects

who takes the longest to get ready

Vau does. He has a reputation of looking nice. Rose, on the other hand, doesn’t care if she looks nice or not. Her hair is always a mess and her eyeliner was put on the day before. Vau puts effort into his look.

who is the most tidy and organized

Vau is. Both are pretty tidy, but Vau is far more organized and clean than Rose. and she’s pretty damn clean. The only thing of Rose’s that is organized is her blades and husband.

who gets most excited about the holidays

Rose because she can dress up Mird in the sweaters Vau knits.

(Hehehhee here's a fic called Sweaters that’s about Mird in sweaters)

who is the big spoon/little spoon

Vau is taller so he’s usually the big spoon. But it really depends on the moods they’re in. When he has nightmares or just a shitty day Rose is the big spoon. Whoever is the little spoon has Mird curled up against their chest.

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports

Rose does! She’s fucking terrible when it comes to being competitive.

who starts the most arguments

It’s a mix of both......but still mainly Rose. She never shuts her mouth and it leads to arguments.

who suggests that they buy a pet

Neither of them. Mird is enough.

what couple traditions they have

Arguing

They’re far from normal so they bounty hunt together! But something normal they do? They cook for one another as often as possible, even if it’s improvised and on their ship after a difficult bounty

what tv shows they watch together

Ooohhh this made me think!!

Soap operas

Probably documentaries so Mird can watch too. It likes to watch the animals, making noises at the holoscreen. Mird is their entertainment, not the show.

what other couple they hang out with

No one. They scare other couples off by their constant arguing and teasing

how they spend time together as a couple

Bounty Hunting, going to war, arguing, etc. You know.....regular Mandalorian things!

who made the first move

In Memories I dedicated a whole flashback to this!!

Both are horny idiots, so it’s a little hard to tell who makes the first move. But it’s Rose! Vau quickly catches on though!

who brings flowers home

Mr. Romance Walon Vau. He loves giving Rose odd but beautiful flowers he’ll find or buy. Especially roses that are odd colors or have patterns.

who is the best cook

Rose’s slightly impatient ass is a better cook, but mostly with quick things like pasta.

Vau was a rich kid so he didn’t learn to cook till he joined the Mandalorians. So he learned as he got older. He can cook pretty well, even better than Rose on some things. Mainly things that take longer.

He’s better at baking, because that requires exact measurements and Rose is too stubborn to do that. Plus it takes longer.

So both are good, but Vau is better with things that involve patience.

I had so much fun with this!!! Thank you for requesting this!!

Tags: @leias-left-hair-bun @iamassbuttkingofhell @catsnkooks @colorfulloverbatturkey @ahsokatano-thetogruta @peacefulwizardfox @jedi-mando @julyzaa @feathersforclones @chr0nicbackpain @jedi-nila-rhyn @strangebroadwaykinks @fyrepen33 @mistflyer1102 @kamino-mermaid @cherry-cokes-world @darmanfi @silverinkandstardust @chewychewyque @majorshiraharu @ravenpuff01 @808tsuika @valkyrieofthehighfae @roseofalderaan @ct7567329 @jadetheaverage @anstarwar @klay97 @seafoamandlilliesinthesea

#walon vau #verda tal rose #walon vau x original characters #walon vau x verda tal rose

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illneverrecover · 5 years ago

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breathe for you | jjk

➛pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader ➛genre: Marriage!AU, domestic!AU, slice of life, fluff with a nice little smut undertone. ➛word count: 2006 ➛rating: 18+ (mature themes, mentions and descriptions of foreplay). ➛warnings: cursing, heavy petting, marking, dry humping/grinding, slight hair pulling, making out like horny teenagers, Jungkook being a goofy soft ass whole entire angel. ➛summary: You’re always cold, but Jungkook comes up with the sweetest and most creative ways to warm you up. ➛notes: This entire thing was written for one of my beautiful besties, @quinnkoo . Happy Birthday, Quinny baby! I’m sad we’re not celebrating this years at a BTS concert (or in a GCF!) like we did last year, but I hope this at least makes you smile. I’m so glad to have you in my life, to get to call you a friend, and to get to finally be close enough to squeeze you. Don’t tell anyone but I love you. Actually just don’t read this. ➛song: Love U - Monsta X & Breathe for You - Monsta X

“It’s freezing in here.”

“No it’s not. You’re being dramatic again.”

Huffing, you slide the soles of your feet until they’re pressed against one of Jungkook’s sweatpant clad thighs. “I’m never dramatic literally ever. Feel my toes,” you wiggle them, giggling when he squeaks at the pinch.

“Why do you always want me to touch your feet? Listen, baby, if you have a foot fetish, we can discuss some boundaries-”

“Jungkook!” you yell, laughing when he grabs your feet, tickling them briefly before slowly squeezing. His hands were so warm, which was a gentle reminder that your husband was practically a human furnace.

Scooting closer to him, you fling your legs completely in his lap, sighing with relief when large palms slide up and down your legs, the friction warming your bones. You were always cold, no matter what the weather, but it was one of the many quirks that Jungkook loves about you - and loves teasing you for. Nuzzling into his side, you rest your eyes in the cozy peace of the moment before Jungkook shouts, plopping your legs to the couch to stand.

“I have an idea!”

You scoff. “Is your idea microwaving my socks again? Because they almost caught fire last time and it was awful-”

“No! This idea is way better,” he grins, winking at you before darting away.

Despite the exasperation on your face, you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. Finding the match to your soul was a feat that you hadn’t thought possible, and yet here he was, dressed like a teenager and armed with a toothy grin, ready to take on the world for you. It may seem silly to others, but every moment spent with him was more than you could ever ask for. He was so caring, so considerate. He always wanted to make you laugh, always going out of his way to make you smile.

So many bad days that he had turned for the better by attempting to make your favorite food, or demanding a movie night with all your favorites. Days when you had left work exhausted and drained and so damn soul weary that you didn’t think you could leave your bed - and instead of trying to make you, he instead joined you, holding you tight and letting you tell him all your fears and concerns. Jungkook was the most attentive partner, and he made the most mundane things unforgettable - one of his many charms.

He returns with a pile of blankets in his arms, doe eyes dancing with mirth just above the visible line.

“You know where you can’t be cold?” when you shake your head, he drops the blankets on your lap, throwing his arms in the air. “Inside the formidable and impenetrable Fort Nochu!”

You roll your eyes, but your smile is already hurting your cheeks. It was a cheesy nickname, a silly word, and yet it was something so undeniably him.

“Impenetrable, huh?” Unfolding the top blanket, you drape it over the couch until it reaches the top of the nearby recliner until a makeshift ceiling is formed. “Is the fort itself impenetrable or does that go for the inhabitants as well?”

His dulcet chuckle is music to your ears, long hair shifting to fall into his eyes as he looks up at you through thick lashes. The look was more lethal than he realizes, and your blood starts pounding, pooling low in your gut.

“Well, you’ll just have to come and find out, hmm?” He tries to wink, but both eyes close, and you feel your heart clenching.

Did he have to be so damn cute? Honestly, the whiplash was maddening.

It took less than 10 minutes to finish the construction, your ideas for the optimal blanket fort perfectly aligning and allowing you to work in tandem. The futon mattress from the spare room has been dragged as the makeshift floor, a mountain of pillows and blankets adorning the top until it was truly lush and luxurious. A small door had been left open to the elements so that the TV screen could be seen, though Jungkook assures that this is not a design flaw and does not change his previous statement regarding the fortitude of Fort Nochu.

He gestures for you to crawl inside before following, remote forgotten shortly after he puts some Netflix show on for background noise. Instead you were content to lay facing each other, his long arms circling your waist and rubbing smooth patterns along the ridges of your spine. Your face is pressed to the firmness of his chest, his scent heady mixed with the gentle thumping of his heart, and you couldn’t help but to breathe him in, to wish you could pull him in deeper.

He’s humming a song, one that you don’t recognize but it’s beautiful and soothing as one hand slides up your back to nestle into your hair. “So, how about it? Did it work? Are you warm yet?”

Honestly, your limbs and heart had been heated through long before climbing into the blanket fort, but he didn’t need to know that. Instead, you trace the silk line of his jaw, thumb tugging at the corner of his plush bottom lip until his darkened gaze focuses on you.

“I’m pretty warm, but I think I could be warmer.”

He glares then, question evident on his brow but instead of answering further, you hitch a leg over his hip, pulling him closer until your faces were almost touching. Your nose sweeps against his gently, a ghost of sweetness, before trailing down to his pulse point, to the hollow of his throat. You press a lingering kiss there, wet and soft, before moving to leave another, making a small path until you reach the barrier of his hoodie.

He shakes loose a breath as his hands tighten around you, tugging in an effort to bring you closer, but you ignore it to continue your leisurely ministrations on the column of his neck. His skin was sweet, as if the lingering scent of his soap had melded with his natural scent to create the most perfect flavor, one that you couldn’t get enough of. You grin against him when you hear him whine, swallowing thickly.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you murmur, teasing the lobe of his ear with your teeth. Sliding a hand through his long locks, you tangle your fingers near the root to give a gentle pull, awarding you a low moan from his throat. “Is there something you want, Jungkook?”

His voice is rough, gravelly with misuse, but you hear him clearly all the same.

“You. All I ever want is you.”

Now it’s your turn to groan, swinging your body up onto his hips until you are straddling above him, hands resting against the tight planes of his chest. He looks beautiful pinned beneath you; lungs heaving, face flushed, tawny eyes shiny and lust blown. His long hair is fanned around his face, almost making him look angelic - if you didn’t know any better, that is.

Unable to resist any longer, you crash your lips to his, licking against the seam of his pout until he opens, always so pliant for your kisses. You kiss him until he’s breathless, until his mouth is love bitten and his taste is burned onto your tongue. You’d be content to kiss Jungkook all night, to just enjoy the feeling of his lips moving in sync with your own, but the growing hardness pressing against your inner thigh is begging for your attention.

Who are you to deny Jungkook attention?

Rolling your hips, you finally pull your mouth away, gasping for air as you keen against him. “So what were the rules regarding penetration inside of Fort Nochu again?”

A choked laugh fades into a moan of your name, palms digging into your waist, bruising. “I concede. You’re the queen of this fort now, you make the rules.”

Victory of your win flooded your veins, and you give him a cocky grin before suckling his bottom lip between your teeth, nipping the flesh gently before letting it drop.

“Good.”

Your hands slide under his hoodie to feel the feverish skin of his torso, lean muscles shivering under the contact as he gasps, and you love how responsive he is; how sensitive he is to your touch, how worked up he gets for you - only for you.

Nudging him to sit up, you rip the material over his head to toss aside, eyes greedily drinking in the revealed skin before you like it was the first time all over again. Latching your mouth to his collarbone, you start to suck evidence of your claim against his golden skin, hips rocking gently against his length in sync with his soft mewls.

Each glide against his clothed cock was delicious pressure against your aching core, and you knew you were wet enough that you wouldn’t even need anything more than to slide your panties to the side to have him sheathed fully inside of you. Dropping a hand down to your center, you move to sweep the offending material away when a sudden tug at your shirt has you yelping.

“Mama? Papa?”

The voice is tiny, dripping with sleep, and you will your pulse to slow its pace when you turn to see your son clamoring his way into the fort.

Sighing, you drop your head to Jungkook’s chest, snickering alongside him when he presses a kiss to your temple, allowing you a moment of reprieve before slipping out of his lap.

“Hey little man, why are you still awake?” he questions, hands reaching for the boy who happily scrambles into his father’s embrace.

Tiny fists rub at his eyes, hair sticking out into an excellent mad scientist impersonation. He looks just like his father, could almost be his twin, and as he got older and more of his personality started to show, it became evident that you had created some sort of Jungkook clone.

Something that the world should perhaps be worried about, but it only made your heart swell.

“I had a bad dream, I got scared. And then you weren’t in your room.” He pouts, lip jutting out, causing Jungkook to crinkle his nose with an amused grin.

“I’m sorry, rabbit. We decided to build a blanket fort,” leaning forward, he cups his hand towards the child’s ear, whispering conspiratorially. “I named it Fort Nochu.”

At the name, your son's eyes widen, turning to look at his father. “Nochu? Like who comes and helps me sleep at night?”

Jungkook chuckles, catching your eye as you stifle back giggles of your own. It had been an old trick, a silly story to tell your little boy that ‘Nochu would come through’ to help him sleep, but it had worked like a charm and clearly left a lasting impression.

“Exactly like that!”

Your heart tightens in a vice at the scene, and you muse if you could possibly love your husband - your little family - any more for probably the millionth time since you brought your son home. There’s a smile on your face as you make room between you, adoration smooth in your eyes when you pat the bed encouragingly.

“Does that mean I can sleep here?” he slides into the opening, a yawn ripping from him as he cozies under the copious blankets.

“I bet if you sleep here, you won’t have any more bad dreams,” you coo, running a hand through your sons dark hair as he settles onto his side, eyes already closing.

Jungkook slips in behind him, elbow propping him up so he can admire you both, the comfortable silence lulling in the space between. Reaching over the now sleeping boys form, his hand searches your own, fingers interlocking, giving you a quick squeeze.

“Are you warm now?”

His voice is low, dripping with adoration, and you know what he means; what he’s asking without ever saying the words.

Your eyes close as you hum.

“Definitely.”

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mordellestories · 5 years ago

Text

Love and Necrogamy

A Beetlejuice Fanfic

Chapter 1

At seventeen years old, Lydia Deetz found herself engaged to a six-hundred-thirty-seven-year-old poltergeist. Though she had accepted the deal willingly at the time to save her new ghost parents, she had not intended to go through with it at all. Even though she did little to stop the ceremony, her family tried their damnedest to get rid of their dangerous and unwanted rescuer before he could seal the deal. And they did. Or so they thought.

Unfortunately for the teenage bride, the officiate had performed the ceremony to its completion. The words "I now pronounce you Ghost and Wife" had gone unheard by pretty much everyone in the room. Let's face it, when there is a giant sandworm crashing through your living room, it's hard to pay attention to whatever else is going on. All had retired for the evening after the tumultuous affair and were on their way to a not-so-blissful sleep until Lydia's bloodcurdling scream had everyone racing to her room. They found her in her black, bulky nightgown hopping up and down in a panic, and pulling on her finger like she was ready to be free of the appendage altogether.

"It won't come off!" She yelled, wide-eyed with her cheeks streaked with sweat and tears.

After calming the poor girl down, it was evident she was referring to the simple, gold wedding band that the vile villain had managed to slip on her ring finger before being fed to the Saturn giant. Each guardian tried their best to pull the forsaken thing off the goth girl. They tried soap. They tried baby oil. They tried ice. They tried engine oil. They even tried Delia's homemade, organic, vaginal lubricant that she claimed could rehydrate the Sahara. Nothing worked. They all decided it was too soon to be making conjectures. Delia suggested that Lydia lose a few pounds - just enough to wriggle the offensive thing free. No one had any other suggestions, so Lydia got herself on a strict diet - not that she was very hungry anyway. Finding yourself to be an unwilling, underaged bride can sort of squelch your appetite. Barbara took it upon herself to stay in Lydia's room every night, just in case.

Matters only worsened when one morning both a marriage certificate naming Lydia Deetz as Wife and Betelgeuse Horeson as Husband, and a Handbook for the Recently Married to the Deceased showed up on Lydia's vanity. While Lydia took the news with silent defeat, Barbara had a complete meltdown. As her ghostly godparents charged for the Afterlife Waiting room to appeal on her behalf, Lydia sauntered off to the local cemetery and brooded.

It had been a whole month. She had been married an entire month, but her grimy, gross husband had not come to claim her. She wondered if he was still being digested. She paced the graveyard for hours while she read her new manual on being a dead man's wife. Twisting the ring on her finger as she pondered on the endless scenarios her dark imaginings could come up with, she decided to end her misery by confronting the source of her anxiety. With newfound knowledge and courage, she went home, climbed upstairs, locked herself in her room, and waited for the witching hour. Adam and Barbara had still not returned, and Delia tried to be motherly by asking her stepdaughter if she needed her to sleep the night with her, which Lydia denied emphatically.

The house was finally quiet and midnight rolled around. Lydia touched the cool glass of her vanity mirror. Saying his name once would establish a connection, like dialling a phone number, but he would have control over answering the call. She didn't want that. Saying his name twice while touching a reflective surface would summon him to that specific object, and doing so at the time of the witching hour would give her complete control over the summons. Uttering his name three times, well, it could be deduced accurately what might happen then.

She inhaled deeply and steadily. "Betelgeuse." Her wedding band glowed green, and the hairs on her arms stood on end. "Betelgeuse." The surface of the mirror fogged over, completely obscuring any reflection. She waited, but the fog did not clear. Another long moment passed until she heard the sound of a finger gliding on moist glass beneath her hand. She removed her hand quickly and watched in awe as letters spelt themselves crudely on the mirror.

HI, POOKIE.

Lydia nearly gagged at the pet name, but her panic started to build effectively taking over her disgust. She'd made contact. "Where are you?"

HERE. A-DUH.

"Why can't I see you?" She asked suspiciously.

The fog danced on the surface silently until it began to clear enough to reveal a pair of smug blue eyes encircled by black. "Didn't think you wanted to see me, sweetums. Lookin' a little..." his hand appeared and motioned at her up and down, "traumatized." He chuckled, and his hand disappeared.

Lydia crossed her arms over her chest and gave the ghost a challenging look. "I'm just fine. Show yourself."

The poltergeist let out a chortle, and the fog vanished, revealing the merry looking dead guy dressed in swim trunks. And that was it. His mossy, black-stained chest was bare along with his protruding beer belly, and he had a little cocktail umbrella tucked behind one ear. His hair still looked like a matted mess, but it was damp and hung low on his shoulders. He was sitting on a beach chair and looking very much like the first time they'd met - not counting the snake encounter, of course.

"That's not what our little bond tells me," he smiled and raised his left hand. His wedding ring gave off a small green glow as hers had when she first called him.

The raven-haired teenager could barely keep her bored expression in place as she realized that he meant he could sense her distress.

"So!" He slapped his bare, moldy knee hard and leaned forward. "'Sup?"

Utterly amazed, Lydia shook her head. "What's up?" She said with disbelief. "What's up?! We're married. That's what's up!"

Betelgeuse splayed his hands before him and looked around before giving Lydia a confused quirk of his brow. "Yeah? That was the deal wasn' it? I save yer friends, you set me free?"

Lydia furrowed her brow and began to pace. "So, you are free , then?"

The poltergeist grinned wide and sat back, crossing his ankle over his knee. "Free as a bat at dusk, babe."

She caught a quick glimpse of something she did not want to see hanging in the gap of his bathing suit between his legs. "Ugh," she scowled and averted her gaze, "so we're square then?" She asked with impatience. "Are you done terrorizing people?"

Betelgeuse scratched the inside of his ear, then ate whatever he had pulled out. "I"m a freelance bio-exorcist. Terrorizing people is my job. And I'm very good at my job." He gave her a mischievous grin. "As you're well aware."

Lydia scoffed but silently agreed with him. "What I mean is, are you done terrorizing us. Me. My family?"

The mossy ghost looked amused as he gave Lydia a slow once-over. "Sure," he said with mild sincerity. "For now, anyway." He exposed his filthy, blackened overbite again with a snicker.

The goth girl plopped down on her bed and buried her face in her hands with defeat. "What have I done?" She breathed with quiet despair.

Betelgeuse rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat, uncomfortably. "Look, kid. You called me right outta my vacation, 'kay? I haven't done anything but enjoy some time under the Hawaiian sun. So, don't beat yerself up just yet. I've been a good boy." His eyes shifted in his sockets with uncertainty. "Unless you count what've been doin' under the sheets if ya know what I'm sayin'?"

Lydia looked up and studied the ghoul trapped in her mirror. He did not seem as menacing, manic, or dangerous as when they parted ways. "You're on vacation? In Hawaii." She almost couldn't believe it. "What happens when you get bored with that?"

He shrugged. "Well, I uh, go back to work," he replied simply. "Gotta provide for my little ball and chain." He winked at her.

She scoffed. "Consider yourself relieved from that duty." She eyed him a moment longer. "The handbook says we will be audited to make sure the marriage wasn't a fraud to get your papers."

Betelgeuse waved away her comment. "Don't you worry your pretty little head over that. I'll know when they're comin' to check up on us. I'll call ya, then you summon me, we answer a few questions, act like we're in love, badabing, no one will be the wiser."

Lydia felt a strange surge of bravery as she stood and sauntered closer to the mirror. "What if I say no?"

A darkness clouded over Betelgeuse's eyes as he gave her a hooded gaze. "We made a deal," he said with a mirthless smile.

She decided to ignore the warning in his tone. "Yeah, but I didn't know I had to see you again and again for the rest of my life. It's inconvenient."

"As I said it would be," he retorted condescendingly. He relaxed a bit and clicked his tongue. "But I get yer point. Ya know, being married to me does have its perks," he said sleazily while he waggled his eyebrows.

"Ew. Not interested," Lydia bit back with disgust.

Betelgeuse's face fell into a bored expression. "For once, I didn't mean it like that." He did — a little. "I mean," he amended, "not everyone has a talented, personal poltergeist they can whip outta their back pocket whenever they want. Think of me like a genie or somethin' like that. Shit, I'll even give ya three wishes."

Lydia considered the ghost's words. She could think of several instances in her past where a poltergeist could have been very useful. With school starting soon, she wondered if she'd make new enemies in her senior year. Plus, there was one thing she wanted more than anything that only a ghost could help her with. She had been biding her time to ask the favor of Adam and Barbara, but part of her already knew it was too great a favor to ask of them. If he wasn't going to bother her or her family, she could keep their deal a secret and use him when or if she needed to.

"Unlimited wishes and we have a deal," she bargained with a smirk.

"Five," he haggled back.

"A hundred thousand."

He stood up, scrunched up his face and shook his head. "Unlucky thirteen, my final offer," he grated through clenched teeth.

Thirteen was probably more than enough, Lydia thought. "Deal."

The poltergeist let out his famous, wild cackle. "You got it, Lyds. Now, if ya don't mind, I was about to work on my tan line before ya called. We good?"

Lydia bit her lip before answering. "I have a wish."

Betelgeuse let out a loud phlegmy sigh of impatience. "Already?" He shook his head, then sat back down in his chair. "Fine. Spit it out."

"I want you to find my mother," she mumbled quickly. "I have, um, a letter." The ball of nerves sat at her vanity, uncomfortable with his proximity despite the barrier, and pulled out her letter from a drawer. "Can you give it to her?"

The poltergeist snapped his fingers, and the letter glowed green before its astral copy was sucked out into the portal before her and into his hand. He read it right in front of her without a care.

"Well, don't read it!" She outraged.

Betelgeuse let out a whistle, folded the letter, and tucked it who-knows-where behind him. "That was awkward," he muttered before clapping his hands together, enthusiastically, "you got it, honey." With a pop, he was suddenly floating in the air dressed as some corpse version of the genie from I Dream of Jeannie. "Your wish is my command," he said in a scratchy feminine voice. He crossed his arms, gave an exaggerated nod and a blink, and then he was gone.

The mirror returned to normal as soon as he vanished, which left Lydia unnerved. She followed the instructions to trap him in the mirror, yet he was able to leave before the Witching Hour had ended. He shouldn't have been able to do that. She wasn't sure what was scarier. Him having more power than she realized, or the visual of him in a belly dancer's outfit with curves in all the wrong places.

-------

Even after losing seven pounds, the ring would not come off. It should have been enough. Lydia decided to end her fruitless diet and also turned down other ludicrous ideas of being taken to the emergency room or a mechanic to get it removed. Barbara and Adam returned after four months with unfortunate news as well. Juno reminded them that their vouchers had been depleted and even if they still had one, the caseworker could do nothing.

"But," Barbara amended, "Juno said that there would most likely be a visit from some auditors!" She exclaimed with joy. Her smile fell. "Except we don't know when they'll come or who they'll be."

Adam adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "So, it could be as early as tonight!"

"Or when I'm eighty," Lydia replied dryly.

The married couple gave each other a guilty frown. "Well, I don't think it'll be that long..." "Possibly..." They responded in unison.

Lydia shook her head and started to giggle. She gave everyone a thumbs up and turned to leave. "Going to my room now."

Barbara went to place a comforting hand on her. "I'll be right up to-"

"No, no. I don't need you to sleep in my room anymore," Lydia responded with boredom.

"But what if he comes back?" Adam retorted. "Your birthday is in a few days! What if he," the ghost stopped short when Barbara placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from saying what he was going to say next, "comes back," he muttered.

Lydia knew what he was implying. She would be eighteen in three days, and they worried if Betelgeuse would come to try and consummate the marriage. She shrugged and giggled mirthlessly again while she sauntered up to her room. She wasn't too disturbed about their theory. When she last saw the poltergeist, he did not seem eager or even concerned with trying to claim her as his actual wife. In fact, he appeared annoyed she'd even called him. Plus, she hadn't seen or heard from him since she summoned him that one night. When Lydia entered her room, she found a box on her bed with a note.

STUDY UP, BUTTERCUP. -B

She tore the box open thinking it was something to do with her mother, but instead she found numerous pages in a stack. She flipped through some of the pages and realized it was all written accounts about Betelgeuse. The further she dug through the papers, the older the pages looked. At one point she found parchment written in what appeared to be Old English or some other language.

"What the hell?" Lydia scoured through more papers until she tossed everything back in and charged for her vanity. "Betelgeuse-Betelgeuse!"

The mirror took no time at all to reveal the poltergeist in a hideous plaid suit, his hair combed over with thick gel, and he was sporting sunglasses. His arms were opened to his sides as if they had just been curled around a waist each. Startled to find his evening prizes gone, Betelgeuse jumped back and wildly looked around. "Where'd ya go?! Come on, I thought we were havin' a good time!" His search led his gaze to Lydia. "Aw, shit," he deflated, kicked at the ground, then changed his tune. "Hey there, little missus," he crooned affectionately, "got questions for your dear ol' hubby?"

"Why did you leave your unintelligible biography on my bed?" She asked in a hushed whisper.

Betelgeuse motioned to the sky for patience. "For the audit, dear," he drawled. "You need to know some things about me if we're gonna sell this sham."

Lydia perked up at the mention of the audit. "Are they coming?"

"No, but you should be ready for when they do, because it will happen. Could be tomorrow, could be when you're eighty. Who knows. Better safe than screwed though."

The teenager fumed for a moment. "Why should play along when you haven't even granted my first wish yet?"

Betelgeuse puffed out his chest and placed his fists on his hips. "Hey! I did too!" He defended. "What did you want a certified return receipt?!"

Lydia sunk in on herself and dropped into her chair. He had delivered the letter and her mother never replied. "How long ago?"

Outraged, Betelgeuse stomped on the ground and pointed a finger at her. "Right after I left ya! I keep my end of deals, kid. You should know that by now," he barked. The ghost could tell she was down in the dumps and he couldn't have her natural inclination toward melancholy get the better of her. For the sake of his freedom, he would not allow her to go off the deep end just because her mother was an asshole. "Hey-hey, listen," he consoled as he raised his hands in supplication, "forget that broad, okay? You wouldn't even like her, honestly. Can't believe I'm gonna say this, but the red-headed-medusa is a better mommy figure for ya anyway. Plus, ya got the Sandworm cowgirl on your side now."

The goth teenager couldn't help the smirk that curled up on her lips at the nicknames the poltergeist had given her parental figures. "You've got to be joking," she snickered.

Betelgeuse removed his sunglasses then crossed his heart. "I wouldn't lie ta ya, babes."

"I think you would," she retorted playfully.

He nodded his head. "Yeah, well, not about this. I'd call your mom a cunt but she lacks the warmth and depth."

She bit back a laugh. "You know I'm a child right?" Lydia jabbed.

Betelgeuse rolled his eyes and gave her the okay sign. "Lucky for you, you'll magically turn into an adult in three days," he mocked, "you can appreciate my humor then."

Lydia gulped down her sudden distress. He knew her eighteenth birthday was fast approaching.

The poltergeist scrutinized her brief but apparent displeasure. He was quick to deduce the problem. He chuckled. "All right, babe, I've got some bets to place on some crap tables, so unless you have another wish ready, I gotta hit it."

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "Well, there is this girl named Claire…"

A sleazy grin spread wide on his face. "Go on ."

-------

Lydia spent her birthday week in complete bliss. She had been pampered by her family, and Claire was out of school because she had scabies. The evening of her birthday was somewhat awkward. The Maitlands and her parents stayed up with her until midnight, of course, they never mentioned the reasoning behind their motives but Lydia knew. Midnight came and went and Betelgeuse made no appearance. When Barbara finally left Lydia's room the goth girl locked her door with a sigh of relief. There was a sudden rush and a green glow that came from her vanity. Lydia whirled around fully expecting Betelgeuse to be standing smack in the middle of her room in one of his ridiculous getups holding onto a bouquet of flowers or box of chocolates and a perverted smirk plastered on his face. What she found was a flat, velvet black box with an elaborate red bow.

She looked at her mirror for signs of her husband, but he was not there. She approached her gift with caution and gingerly untied the bow. When she lifted the lid, Lydia gasped. Delicately, she grazed her fingers on the finest red fabric she'd ever seen. She pulled it out of the box and raised it before her. A red and black spiderweb poncho that was perfect for her size. She would have scoffed and tossed it aside, it was something she'd never wear, but when she glanced at her mirror she couldn't help but smile. She shook her head, folded her gift and placed it back in the case. She hid it with all the other things that were from him, everything she wore on their farce of a wedding and his biography were carefully tucked away in a steamer trunk with a false bottom. Just in case he could hear or see her she decided to be polite.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

No reply came.

----

Love and Necrogamy is a Beetlejuice multi-chapter fanfic on Ao3 and FF by mordelle. (complete)

#love and necrogamy #Beetlejuice #Beetlejuice/Lydia #Beetlejuice cartoon #beetlejuice movie #Beetlejuice and Lydia #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice fanfic

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kiss-my-freckle · 7 years ago

Text

Red’s Quotes

Season Three

You have every right to be afraid. Just don’t let it control you.

You’re in a storm, Lizzy. You need to find the peace below the winds.

I must say, your hair, the way it frames your face is very becoming.

Red:Chin up, Chang. Believe in yourself and others will, too. Chang: What is that, another one of your dumbass literary quotes? Red: Fortune cookie.

Chang: You’re crazy, old man. Red: You have no idea.

Red: Katarina Rostova was the cleverest, most resourceful woman I have ever known. Liz: Wha- what are you saying? Red: No matter how dark the moment, she could always find her way through. Liz: She was a Russian spy who I never knew. Red: No, you didn’t. But that doesn’t mean your mother is gone. I see her in you every day. She’s as much a part of you as the air you breathe.

Red: No. It’s not a trade or a bribe, or an offer of payment in kind to entice you to look away. I admire your probity too much for that. Ressler: So, what do you want? ‘Cause you only give to get. Red: All I want is your word as a man of honor. Ressler: My word. Red: You know Elizabeth. You know she’s not a Russian spy or a traitor or a terrorist. You know that’s not who she is. Ressler: Doesn’t matter what I know. Red: If you catch her, it will. It will matter a great deal.What you know about her, what you feel about her could make all the difference. So, my offer. One blacklister in exchange for your word that you will give her the benefit of every doubt. Can you do that, Donald? Can you give me your word?

You know, as my father used to say to me, just because you’ve been bumped up to first chair in the orchestra doesn’t mean you can compose a symphony.

Oh, Connie. What a delightful nod to tradition. I can’t tell you how nostalgic it is to see a Russian bureaucrat demonstrating such a time-honored absence of work ethic.

She’s much prettier than she looks sitting behind the news anchor desk. Plus, she’s married to a ranking member of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. Only fair, I suppose, given the black book military aid he’s allocated to Crimea. Reciprocity’s a bitch, right Connie? Screw the Bear, the Bear screws back, batteries not included. By all means, do call in the troops. What with your government’s implication in the Orea bombing and assassinations of the sitting Senator and the Attorney General of the United States, how much harm could a weekly game of water wiggle between their ambassador and a senator’s wife cause? Barely a blip in the news cycle. Though, I doubt the Kremlin will be nearly as jejune as I am.

That’s the spirit, Connie. Service with a smile.

You need to stop that convoy.

If by “secure” you mean “dead,” then yes, absolutely. Ressler wasn’t trying to kill you. He was trying to save you. The convoy was compromised.

You haven’t the slightest clue how to speak to a woman, have you? Now, my friend there and I are having a very important discussion. So you just sit tight, enjoy your muffin, and if I hear you say anything other than “please” or “thank you” to Carly, I’m gonna drag you into the men’s room and wash your mouth out with soap. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll cut your filthy tongue out with that butter knife. Is that clear enough for you?

Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm and take your seats. Clayton.

Now, I apologize. I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but it appears we’ll all be taking an extended lunch. However, if you remain calm and do exactly as I say, I promise you’ll leave here with a rip-roaring story to tell your friends and families. Bon appetít. Dear, would you mind answering that phone? No doubt it’s for me.

Becky from the old firm? The paralegal. Oh, my God. You old dog. Oh!

That's enough!

She didn’t have a choice. What if he’d gotten her gun? What then, Carly? Do you think any of us would be safer if he were armed? You think you’d be safe?

There will be no deal.

You’re a free man, Marvin. Instead of facing a notoriously unpredictable parole board and the showering with the boys, you’ll be unwinding on a small banana plantation I have outside of Papeete.

Get in the car, Marvin. Have a mai tai, soak up some sun because I’ll be contacting you soon, and when I do, I want this plan of yours to be thoroughly mapped out. We only have one shot at this. I’ll be in touch. Make sure you have Heia air dry your sheets! You’ll sleep like a baby!

It was the Cold War. There were spies to run.

Our journey begins in the home of the double-bacon corn dog. Welcome to Iowa.

We’re gonna need Mr. Costa’s address. And maybe some directions. My associate prefers to steal cars made before the advent of GPS.

Liz: I don’t know what happened. I used to consider myself lucky. I had a husband I loved, a job I always wanted. I was the kind of person good things happen to. --- Red: Sometimes, bad luck is the best luck you’ll ever have.

This is the life, Lizzy. Someone’s always one step behind.

Only if you don’t know the four digits. Now there’s only 24 combinations.

Ressler is a law-enforcement robot. The FBI winds him up-

Look at me. You need to let that go, Lizzy. I have survived for a very long time now, and I assure you, I didn’t do it by relying on the goodness in people.

You seem like an intuitive guy. At least intuitive enough to know when you’re in over your head, so whichever lowlife you’re working for, he’s gonna have to wait to get his revenge. Set it down.

I came here to ask you to deliver a message to your friend, the Director. This is only the beginning, and I won’t stop until his own people realize that their only way forward is to exonerate Elizabeth Keen and to leave the Director to me. Please. Tell him I’m coming.

Liz: I shot a cop. Red: Yes, you did. Liz: And killed the Attorney General of the United States. Red: Yes. And when you did that, you crossed a threshold, leaving your world, entering mine. Bad things are gonna find you now, Lizzy. This life has a mind and a momentum of its own. That’s a reality you need to accept. Bad things happen to good people. Liz: Am I a good person? I’m not so sure anymore. Red: I’m sure.

Dembe is more than an associate to me. Please find him.

In case we lose visual contact, you’ll be wearing a tracking device. If you’re thinking of reaching out to him, don’t. Now that he’s on the FBI’s radar, they’re likely monitoring any communications. This is important, Lizzy. Promise me you won’t call him.

What is your fantasy?

It’s your fantasy. It’s as it should be.

I’m not sure we should start the party before the hostess arrives, but so be it. Yes. Hello. I need an ambulance. A man’s dying on a cross.

Nasim: What do you want? Red: To offer my sympathies. Nasim: I know who you are. Red: And I know who you are, Nasim. What a beautiful name. It means “breeze” in Farsi. But you weren’t born Nasim. You were born Nasir- “the victorious.” How ironic. But a boy. A perfectly healthy boy.

And this must be your father. The butcher. Tell me, Bahram, was it so horrific to discover that your 19-year-old son, your eldest son, was gay? So horrific that you forced him against his will to go under the knife, change his gender to give you a daughter instead of your son, who is gay?

Bahram: I wanted to protect you, Nasim. They could have killed you. Red: For being gay. They’re so homophobic that being gay is a hideous crime, but chopping off a man’s penis isn’t? Honestly, is it just me, or is the human race, armed with religion, poisoned by prejudice, and absolutely frantic with hatred and fear, galloping pell-mell back to the dark ages? Who on earth is hurt by a little girl going to school or a child being gay? Let’s be frank, Bahram. You didn’t change your son to protect him. You changed him because he disgusted you.

You want to know my fantasy, Nasim? To escape a hopeless police standoff in style with two sensational women on my arms. Shall we? Yeah. Well, we can’t have everything.

Yes. Get the photos to Sandquist at the Chronicle. I want everyone to know what happened here today.

Red: Fold your hands in front of you. Walk. An assassin has targeted Agent Keen. Ressler: If we haven’t found her, he won’t. Red: He’s better than you. He’s better than me. That’s why I need your help to protect her. Ressler: I thought that’s what your job was. Red: Well, I failed at that. Turn around. I’m a little rusty in the 12 steps, but if I’m not mistaken, step 9 is making amends. I can’t do that without you. Ressler: I suggest you start with step 4, and make a searching and fearless moral inventory of yourself. Red: I admire the way you’re dealing with your addiction, Donald. I tried NA once after an opium den in Kuala Lumpur got the best of me. Didn’t stick. I couldn’t get past the requirement to believe in a power greater than myself. Ressler: Officer down. I repeat, officer down. 546 Hawthorne Place. Send all units. You got four minutes. Red: What I know about this assassin will take less than two.

The fact that we’re still alive means you need something from me. Whatever it is, let her go. My resources are at your disposal. It’s a limited-time offer, Matias. You need to act now.

Call the Director. Tell him I’ll give him everything I’ve been collecting, all the evidence against him. Call him!

Well, we’re just gonna have to kill her.

Borakove, wake and bake and grab a pen. I have a routing number I need you to track.

You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

Blair: You killed her! Red: No, she didn’t. It’s understandable that you would think she did, but she didn’t.

Cedric, lives are at stake. The fate of nations. Bribe someone. Push someone around. I don’t care. Just get it done.

Max: My son drowned in Portofino. Red: Well, who could have predicted that?

Red: You must be Lisa. Max said your eyes were radiant, but my God! Mesmerizing. It’s a very small space. We want to brighten. I love mauve, but a soft creamy yellow will just open up the entire room. We also need to land on cabinet options and millwork today. I’m already arguing with my supplier. Tell me if I’m going too fast- Lisa: I’m sorry. I have no idea what any of this means. Red: Oh, my goodness- Max didn’t tell you. Lisa: Tell me what? Red: About your restaurant. Lisa: I don’t have a restaurant. Red: I think we need to take a drive.

Red: I know. I know. I ruined the whole damned thing. But there were too many decisions to make without her. After all, it is her restaurant. Lisa: I can’t believe this. Red: Max has been working night and day to get this place fixed up. Alł those classes, the hours you’ve spent perfecting your tarts, your crumpets. If he’s told me once, he’s told me a thousand times, you should be feeding all of Montreal in your own restaurant. Lisa: I don’t know what to say. Max: Neither do I. Lisa: We could do puff pastries with a little Sunday brunch! And those little tea cakes that you loooove. Red: I need one day working around the clock with no interruptions. After that, the place is yours. Max: Who are you? Red: The man who’s going to help you make her dreams come true.

Red: So you are a gambling man. Let’s place that bet, shall we? Medical: What was that? I thought I heard- Woman: What happened? Is he dead? Red: Dead? Pishposh. What’s death? It’s just a process, right?

Red: Hello, Peter. I hope I��m not interrupting cocktails with Lynda. Peter: Congratulations on getting to Halmi before I did. Red: Yes, it certainly is celebratory drinks here, so I’ll be brief. I think it’s about time to exonerate Elizabeth Keen. Peter: That is not going to happen. Red: Oh, but it is. The only question is whether you’ll live to see the day. If I continue to dismantle the Cabal, they’ll put a bullet in your head just to mitigate their losses. Everything is working according to plan, Peter. Peter: You overestimate your influence, Raymond. Your plan is of no concern to us. Red: Peter. You’ve been skimming from the company till, stealing millions in anticipation of running away. When you were linked to the Cabal, you reached out to Halmi - put your golden parachute in a secret account only he could access. Except now, I’ve got it. You have no money to escape the inevitable. Your colleagues will abandon you. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but soon enough because I’m not going to stop until they do. Peter: Unless I exonerate Keen. Red: It’s one small chance to save your life. Peter: Such a generous offer. I’ll have to decline. Red: I’m going to bring this whole damn thing down on you, Peter. And when I do, your own people will beg me to kill you to stop the bleeding.

“Do I dare to eat a peach?” I may as well live dangerously.

Red: Agent Navabi. May I assume you’re aware of the recent abductions? Samar: Me and every agent in the building. Red: Perhaps. But they don’t share the same personal investment that you have in today’s events. Samar: And why is that? Red: Because you and I both know that Lazarum Systems International is providing technical expertise to Israel’s missile-defense shield. They’re encrypting software for the Iron Dome. Whoever took those contractors is an enemy of Israel. Samar: That’s a long list. Red: Let me shorten it - Zal Bin Hasaan. Imagine, the man who’s killed more Mossad agents than any other assassin in history, right here on American soil. Samar: That’s not possible. Red: That’s what you thought in Cairo. He was right behind you, and you didn’t know it. That mistake cost your partner his life and put you in an Egyptian I.C.U. But, back then, you were missing one critical element that would have made all the difference - me. Samar: What exactly are you suggesting? Red: That we combine our efforts. We both want Hasaan. I’ll be in touch.

Red: Oh, my. Three questions in not even as many seconds. Which should we answer first? Actually, how about this, I’ll ask a few questions first, and then we can get to whatever’s on your mind. Farzin: I’m sorry, but my name, it is somewhat common. Perhaps you are confusing me with - Red: I knew a guy that happened to all the time. Best glass-smith in New England. Nobody could free-blow a vase like Theodore Bundy. Can you imagine? Ted Bundy, an amazing craftsman, couldn’t sell a vase.

Don’t feel bad, Farzin. You’re a smuggler, not a fighter.

If that’s where the list is, that’s where Hasaan is going. In a few minutes, half the federal agents in Washington will have that building surrounded. Your only job for now is to stay alive.

Red: According to legend, a great and wise bird raised the young warrior, Zal, in her nest atop the highest peak of Damavand. When he came of age, she gave him a plume of her radiant feathers to burn if he was ever in desperate need, and she would come to his aid. Pity. You seem to be fresh out of feathers. Hasaan: What do you want? Red: Well, another spin of the bottle in Melanie Reichman’s basement, but, I’ll settle for you. Samar: What now? Red: That’s your decision. You can turn him in. You know what will happen - Rendition, hunger strikes, eventually death in whatever hellhole he’s thrown into. Or you can give him to me. The best I can offer is death with a purpose. Samar: Which is? Red: Agent Keen’s freedom.

Red: Harold, Agent Keen tells me you have the man they call Karakurt. Cooper: Yes. And I intend on turning him over to the bureau as soon as possible. Red: Don’t. I have a better idea.

Red: Oh, and don’t forget that other matter we discussed. Liz: Other matter? Red: Ian has a first edition of Life On The Mississippi for me. Multitasking. Liz: Oh. Red: Have I ever told you the story about Ian Bartleby and his wife and the beekeeper they fell into bed with on the Isle of Skye? Fascinating, illuminating story. Liz: Oh, it’s been a long drive. Any chance I can hear about Ian and the beekeeper after I clean up? Red: Yes. Freshen up. I’ll fill the tank. Get us something to eat. Lizzy, we’re very close. This’ll all be over soon.

Let me see if I can guess how this works. You grab hapless motorists, drain their ATM accounts, max out their credit cards, and dump them by the side of the road. Money or your life. You’re highwaymen. “KOTH” Knights? Kings Of The Highway. How romantic..

T-Bone: I like wearing your co-co-coat. Must have set you b-b-back a bundle. Red: No doubt worth considerably less now.

Yeah, that’s what I am, Cash. I’m on the lam. I was wondering when we’d get to that.

Jilly: It’s tea time. Red: Oh, that’ll be fun, Jilly. Cucumber sandwiches? Jilly: And scones. Red: How delicious. Jilly: Would you like one lump or two? Red: Two, please. Jilly: You simply must tell me your name. It’s dreadfully rude of me not to address you properly. Red: Kenneth. Jilly. Your real name. Red: Kenneth. Now look what you’ve done. You spilled all the tea, dear. Jilly: You have to tell me your real name. They’re gonna hurt me if you don’t. Red: You like getting hurt, Jilly. You wouldn’t be here with them if you didn’t. Jilly: You think so? Red: I do.

Red: You didn’t find anything. Jilly found it ’cause you’re too dense to even look for it. No wonder Cash doesn’t trust you with anything more important than babysitting. T-bone: That’s big talk coming from a g-guy who’s- Red: You are aware you need to clean and oil these from time to time, right?

Red: You sure it didn’t hit an organ? Looks pretty close to a kidney- Cash: Shut up! Don’t listen to him. Hey, he’s the one that shot you. He don’t know nothing. Red: Then again, you bleed out, one less person who gets a cut of my money. Cash: I said- shh! Pablo: Seriously, man, maybe we should let him get to a hospital. T-Bone: I’m freezing! Red: You’re going into shock.You’ve lost too much blood. The body’s beginning to shut down.

Red: When’s the last time you got any of that, Pablo? Or have you? Pablo: We share everything. Red: But not with Jasper, apparently. Pablo: That’s our business. It ain’t yours. Red: Oh, it's very much my business. As a matter of fact, Pablo, our operations are remarkably similar, albeit mine functions on a somewhat grander scale, certainly more hygienic. But at the end of the day, it all boils down to the same basic principle. We steal from others, but not from each other. Pablo: Shut your mouth, or I swear to God, I’m gonna- Red: Kill me? That’ll fix things. At least until those two decide a two-way split makes more sense than four. Tell me something. Do you trust Cash? Do you trust him with your life?

You sure this is about me? I’m worth a lot more to them than you are. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I were to walk out of these woods alive, and I sincerely doubt you’ll be as lucky. Where do you suppose they’re gonna go with my money? I say Aruba. Maybe Cancún

See, this is why I don’t go to family reunions. Aunt Lucille is always arguing with Buddy, Uncle Scott is drunk by noon, and someone’s hand is always in the wrong cookie jar.

You are in desperate need of some help, Jilly.

Lizzy, where are you? Where are you? They’re coming.

There are no beatings here, Donald. No winners or losers. There is only Agent Keen’s life.

He tried to tell you, Donald. You didn’t listen. Apparently, you have a disregard for Tom Keen that exceeds even my own.

Red: Donald. I find him so stiff so much of the time. He doesn’t appreciate life’s trimmings. Take yourself, for example. It’s my understand he fired you for helping Elizabeth come to my rescue. Samar: He had every right. I went behind his back. I’m willing to take responsibility for my actions. Red: Watch out. That’s the kind of spirit that could save America. Thank you for meeting me, Samar. Samar: What do you want? Red: We’re going to clear Elizabeth’s name. It’ll involve a sizable drug haul, an FBI heist in the US Treasury Department. But first, I need to make an appointment. Samar: An appointment with whom? Red: With the Foreign Minister of Venezuela.

Why don’t you grab some kilos off the top and let’s go stage a crime scene.

Just like my uncle Vic on a Saturday night.

Diaz: He has irritable bowels. But what can you expect? We just borrowed another $5 billion from China. So, what is this about, Reddington? I was told a matter of national interest. Red: Indeed. I believe I can help your President’s stomach condition.

Diaz: Where did you get these? Red: Oh. There was this plane that fell out of the sky, a group of anti-capitalists. Terrorists in funny masks. But I digress. The point is, I’m giving El Jefe the ability to print as much money as he’d like to print. Diaz: You son of a gun. Red: I’ve been called worse.

I’m actually a great proponent of marital therapy. Worked for me. Then again, I had sort of a thing for the therapist. Lovely voice.

Everybody likes apples.

Red: Peter! Welcome back. Boy, you were out! Like carrying a bag of boulders. Peter: What the hell have you done? Red: I envy anyone who can sleep soundly on a plane. Then again, I’ve never been injected with propofol. You have the Post Toasties?

Peter: You’re insane. Red: I wouldn’t know.

Red: It’s not everything we wanted, but it’s close. You’ll be safe. You’ll be free. Liz: But I won’t be an agent. I’ll be an asset like you. Red: Yes. I told you some time ago, when you pulled that trigger, you crossed a threshold... you stepped from your world into mine. I wish I could deliver the perfect outcome, but I’m afraid - Liz: This is- fair. Red: Fairness is overrated. And maybe there’s a way to get you all the way back. But for now, Lizzy, for today, sign the deal.

I can’t think of even one set of circumstances in which that would be any of your business. We’ve been descending for some time now. Looks like we’ll be able to drop you off in time for dinner.

Your past three months have been what my life has been like for the past 25 years. I’m often exhausted.

I must confess to feeling curiously flattered.

Samar: Why didn’t you take him up on the polygraph test? Red: Because I can defeat a polygraph. So can he, or he wouldn’t have suggested it.

I forgot how much it sickens me to come here.

Red: Katarina Rostova was a name that had been lost to history. Masha Rostova was never more than suspicion and rumor. The manhunt and the publicity it generated changed all of that. Liz: But who would care that I’m Katarina Rostova’s daughter? Red: The daughter of a legendary spymaster, the secret-keeper who disappeared- Liz: Disappeared? You and Sam told me she’s dead. Red: The secrets she took with her could compromise any number of players on that map. They’ll be coming. They’ll be coming for you. Liz: But I don’t know anything. Red: They don’t know that. You can’t walk away, Lizzy. They won’t let you.

I’m sorry, but “been dug”? Is that correct? That doesn’t sound correct, Marcus.

I thought we weren’t supposed to have phones.

Take your seat, Marcus. Your information is incorrect, and you’re standing in my light.

May I present to you Raymond Reddington? Pour the man a glass of this wonderful port. It appears this party’s just getting started.

I told you that before this dinner was done, I would prove my innocence and identify the person who’d betrayed us. Meet the fake Red. Faux Red. Fred.

I took Agent Elizabeth Keen on as a client when she was a fugitive to gain her trust in exchange for information as to who was responsible for decimating our ranks. Like you, I’d heard the rumors that I was the one who betrayed us. And sure enough, after gaining her trust, she confirmed that the Bureau’s confidential informant was a Raymond Reddington.

You can go after a man’s business, Marcus, even his associates, but other than family, the only thing off-limits is a man’s reputation. You have given false allegations against my good name, which will be whispered and repeated by those who envy my success no matter how thoroughly I repudiate them.

You were right, Marcus. I am the informant. Tell all our friends in Hell to be patient. I’ll be along soon enough.

I know you’ve been through a terrible ordeal, Janet, and I’m sorry for that. But unfortunately, your knowledge of my relationship with the Bureau is inherently dangerous to you, your family, and to me. So please listen carefully and follow my instructions to the letter. First thing tomorrow, you will inform your superiors that the trauma of today’s experience was such that you have re-ordered your priorities and wish to spend more time with Bob, Tyler, and the dogs. You are going to move to Santa Monica, California. I’ve purchased a beach house. The deed is in that envelope. Your property taxes will be paid for on a biannual bases, and I’ll be checking on you from time to time to make sure you’re still ... safe. Travel safely, Janet. The sunset over the Pacific is magnificent.

Liz: You manufactured a doppelganger to reclaim your reputation. Red: I have many contingency plans in place. This was one.

Red: You will not marry her. Tom: Why? Because I didn’t ask daddy’s permission? Is that really why you called me here? Or did you just want someone to play go fish? Red: You married her over my objections once. It will not happen again.

Red: We boring you, Donald? Ressler: Where’s Keen? You wouldn’t be here without her if she was okay. Red: She’s recovering nicely. Cooper: That’s a relief. Red: I’m sure it is. You confiscated her firearm. Ressler: Oh, so you think a convicted felon should be allowed to carry guns. Red: All the ones I know do.

I assume Tom is the father.

I know you want to believe that our work is done, but it’s not. The addition of a child will make that infinitely more difficult.

I’m a violent man. I’ve taken on a life that requires it. I hurt people. I kill people. And each time I do, in that moment, another part of me dies along with them. When I was young, I romanticized the life of an outlaw. Bad guys. That was a long time ago.

You attacked a pregnant woman, broke three of her ribs, battered her so badly she was left lying unconscious in a grocery-store parking lot.

My, God. Gerald, burying your business in the dirt like a dog. How the mighty have fallen. A terrible time of year to go camping, but I suppose we do what we must when we’re on the run. Brenda and I were just catching up. She’s not hungry, but I noticed you packed some bratwurst and couldn’t resist. I do love a good cookout.

A song, Gerald. I so wanted to be a scout- tying knots, the Pinewood Derby, and the campfire songs. Oh, those songs. I keep trying to explain to Dembe, but I’m no singer. Just one song! Okay, then. Just the name.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one. A priest, a eunuch, and a pedophile walk into a bar- I’m here to offer you the sacrament of confession. I’ll be your Father Confessor. I know, the hypocrisy is staggering.

You know what my problem with religion is? Man. Like anything that has a potential to be beautiful, man will turn it into something ugly. For every saint, there are two million sinners. Like you, I’m a sinner- an envious one, I might add, as my transgressions are not nearly as divine as the ones you’ve been guilty of during the years you’ve been associated with the Vatican Bank.

God, it’s god-awful. If they’d only switch to a good Burgundy, people would be much more devout. Hell hath no fury like a fundamentalist scorned.

Liz: The cardinal took out the others in order to expand his business. Did you take him out to expand yours? Red: Yes. To raise capital in preparation for war. Samar: What war? Red: Ours.

Lizzy, I misspoke earlier about your child. I said that having it would be inconvenient. When your mother was pregnant with you, it was terribly inconvenient. The Cold War was ending. Her country was falling apart. Everything she had ever known. She dreaded having a child. Almost aborted it. Not one day of her pregnancy did she ever think of you as anything but a curse. And then, from the second you were born- there was never a day when she thought you were anything but a blessing. In my experience, there is never a convenient time to have a child. It certainly isn’t a convenient time for you. But if in saying that, I left you with the impression that I didn’t think you should have your baby, I’m sorry for that because nothing could be further from the truth. What I did was for your protection. I’m not a threat to your safety, Lizzy, or your child’s. On the contrary, I can guarantee it, but I cannot do that if you run away. Oh, I should probably mention, I booked a pregnancy massage for you. She’ll be here at 9:00. Her name’s Edwina, she’s a registered nurse, and she smells absolutely divine. I hope it goes with the rest of your stuff.

I’m told it pulls out.

What good is a collection if it doesn’t grow?

I can protect you. All you need to do is ask.

Your law enforcement agencies love their gadgets and their sweeps. The FBI admitted to spending what, a billion dollars in facial-recognition software? Which means they spent at least $3 billion. Honestly, if I paid taxes, I’d be outraged.

I’m a sucker for mob weddings.

May they have the patience to endure one more toast. I am but a humble guest, but please permit me to raise a glass to what I think we all can agree is the most improbable yet consequential occasion. Love is a funny, fickle thing. A slippery slope. Most weddings are fraught with it. This one, not so much. This is business. The brainchild of a brilliant opportunist- a broker of bonds, a procurer of peace. You would think, being singularly responsible for this evening’s prenuptials, he might take a bow. Where is he? Come now, don’t be modest. You do such astonishing, despicable work. I’m dying to hear how he did it. How he brought you two jackals together. How he got rid of Christopher’s fiancé, Anna. How he lied to the boy, let him believe she was slaughtered by the Vacarros, only to turn around and convince him to marry into the very family he despises. What a telenovela! ...deceive your son, killing the love of his life. Oh, here we go. Better than TV.

You destroyed a creature more beautiful than you could ever comprehend.

Josephine, it’s done.

When I was young, I loved fairytales. I was always partial to shapeshifters, who seemed good and sweet, but they were full of unimaginable darkness. Once upon a time, there lived a woman in the woods. She was neither purely evil, nor purely good. She gathered unwanted children and gave them a home in which to stay. She promised them they’d live forever and a day. She changed them into colors, so beautiful, so bold.... I do not wait for 45 minutes in that petri dish of humanity unless I absolutely have to. This is a matter of life and death, Glen.

If you find this woman, if you get it done fast, your tawdry liaisons at the no-tell motel will be a thing of the past, as I will personally introduce you to two young ladies you will never forget- soft, warm, blonde, and willing.

You think your life is too dangerous for a child. But what is your life without one? I can tell you from personal experience- not much.

Or maybe you’re afraid they won’t like you. Dogs are very intuitive. They’ll know if you’re hiding something.

What you endured, most people never recover from. I doubt I would have. But you’ve turned it into a calling. Nikolai would be proud.

Your parents loved each other very much. The Cold War was hard- too hard for your father. When the Soviet Union was collapsing, he took you from her. She gave up everything to follow him, to follow you. Your mother, despite what he’d done, she wanted him back. She wanted them to be a family. As much as it pains me to say it, he was probably... the only man she ever really loved. Your mother was never the same after that. The man she loved killed by the child she adored, it was... just too much. Two months later, she went to Cape May and left her clothes on the beach, walked into the ocean and was never seen again.

You were a child. There should never have been a gun for you to grab. Looking back, I’m not sure I shouldn’t have raised you myself. I don’t want you looking back with that kind of regret. Lady: Who the hell are you? Red: Her fairy godmother. I hear it’s her birthday. We’ve come to celebrate. It’s been some time since freshman English, but I seem to recall that fairy tales about abandonment, death, and witches are supposed to allow children to deal with their fears in symbolic terms, but there’s nothing symbolic about this place. You’re a real witch.

Lady: They could have died together, so beautiful and innocent. Theo would have been spared all this. Red: By “this,” you mean the horror of being different. Is that why you kill them? Lady: I save them. Red: From what? Lady: I make sure the damaged ones don’t grow up to be outcasts like Theo- hated, pitied. No one loves an outcast. Red: Not even his mother? Lady: I couldn’t send my son away, but when I look at him, I see what these children shouldn’t be, and what they won’t be because I see the life I save them from. Theo: I’m ugly. Red: From where I sit, there’s only one ugly person in the room, and it’s certainly not you, Theo.

Theo, you are entitled to as much as anyone- happiness, joy, a mother’s love.

It just keeps getting worse.

I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and assume you mean Tom.

I am not your Tom problem, Lizzy. Tom is your Tom problem.

Pops. You know, I always liked that name. Louis Armstrong was called “Pops.” Willie Stargell, the legendary Pittsburgh Pirate. My lord, that man could smack a fastball. There was Pops Foster, Pops Fernandez... Oh, my. And then there are different pops entirely. Like the pops you hear when your shoulder’s being dislocated.

If he dies, it’s because he put himself in exactly the wrong place at exactly the wrong time. He did this, not me. And that robbery the police want to ask him about- diamonds. He was part of a team that stole tens of millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds. A team I hear included his ex-girlfriend Gina Zanetakos. He’s reckless, dangerous. He’s not worthy of being your husband, and he sure as hell is not worthy of raising that child.

As a reporter. Amazing times, these, don’t you think? When any Tom, Dick, or Sally with a laptop and internet access can declare herself a journalist. I mean, you don’t even use a last name.

You know, I’ve often considered my love of art, and I realized it’s not just the art- it’s the artist. I like art a lot, but I love artists. I love the stories behind their work... the characters. Lopping off ears... Rankling the establishment with paintings of soup cans... Often boldly revealing themselves to our keen observation and insight, our scrutiny. What a marvelous thing, the courage to create. Though I must say, nothing about your work strikes me as courageous. It seems self-indulgent, petulant. Like a tantrum from a child who’s just realized that the world can be a dark and unfair place.

You can answer me, or I can turn that wall behind you into a Jackson Pollock.

People say youth is wasted on the young. I disagree. I believe wisdom is wasted on the old. All you can do is part with it, but very few will take it. Least of all, the people closest to you. They want no part of it. No matter how often I warn you about Tom, you seem intent on discovering those perils for yourself.

I know... I say things that unsettle you about the dangers that lie ahead. I know I anger you with things I say about Tom. But if I’ve ever given you the impression that you won’t survive this, that you and your child aren’t going to have the simple life that I know you long for, I’m sorry. Because you are going to have that, Lizzy.

Red: There is one thing that I can’t seem to... wrap my head around. Liz: What? Red: Tom. After all the lies, all the deception and humiliation, how you can just forgive and forget. Liz: I haven’t forgotten. Forgiveness can’t change the past, but I believe it can change the future. Red: That’s a charming sentiment. But as far as I’m concerned, some things are unforgivable.

Dembe: She deserves the truth. Red: Watch the road, Dembe.

What you said about forgiveness changing the future- it comforts me to know you’re looking forward again. The future holds such promise. The past- so many regrets.

I’m curious, Harold. How do you think the White House is going to express their appreciation to me for foiling the terrorist plot? Maybe an embossed ashtray. Or one of those little American flag pins for my lapel.

Harold, forgive Charlene. A friend told me recently that forgiveness won’t change the past but could very well change the future. Apparently, nothing is unforgivable. Go home, Harold.

If anything happened to me, this was to go to Elizabeth. So she'd know. Now I’m not sure I ever want her to know.

Liz: Oh. Then you’re here for the wedding? Red: No, Lizzy. I’m here to ask you, to implore you, please, don’t do this. I’m telling you, no matter what you believe, Tom is not the man you think he is. Liz: You’re wrong. You don’t know him. Red: He’s a criminal. Liz: No. He’s changed. Red: Men like Tom don’t change. You’re attempting to build a life with a man who is fundamentally dishonest. Liz: No. I am attempting to build a life with the father of my child. A normal life with two parents who love one another. With everything you know about me, can’t you see that? Can’t you see how important that is to me? To my child? Red: You were wrong about him once. What makes you so sure you’re not wrong this time? Do you really want your child to pay the price for that mistake for the rest of his or her life?

She’s a sacrifice. Solomon isn’t after that weapon. It’s a distraction to keep us looking one way while they go another. He’s after Elizabeth.

Red: Ever since Elizabeth went public as Masha Rostova, still waters have been stirred up and old grudges have surfaced. And now someone out there is singularly focused on coming for her. Ressler: Coming to kill her? Red: No. To abduct her. Ressler: They’re sending Solomon. Red: In retrospect, that’s a perfect choice. He knows us intimately. He knows about the task force. They gave us a false trail, and we followed the scent. Donald, if I’m right and this was all an elaborate feint, all that matters is that you get to that church- now.

Red: Elizabeth, I’m sorry, but we need to go. Liz: What are you doing here? Red: Men are coming for you. We need to leave now.

Solomon: First of all, you and I both know that you are out-manned and out-gunned. The plan was to grab her today, no matter where she was. Grocery store or house of God, it makes little difference to me. And for the record, I take no offense that I wasn’t invited. Red: Came together rather nicely. They went with ruby fringe tulips and pink peonies. You’d be impressed.

I’ll tell you what I know as soon as I know you’re safe.

Yes. All of this, indeed, is on me.

Tom: What do you want? Red: Elizabeth. Here. Now. I’m right in front of the place. Where is she?

Red: I can’t protect you in a hospital. Liz: You can’t protect me in a church, either. Red: Let me rephrase that. I cannot safeguard you and the dozens of innocent patients and medical personnel who’ll be caught in the crossfire when Solomon and his storm troopers put together where you are. I know how desperately you want to protect your baby, Lizzy. So think.

Circumstances prevent me from sharing more information at this time, Harold. Whoever employed Solomon’s services, they know too much. They’re breathing down our necks even now. Listening, watching. I can feel it.

Oh, for God’s sake, Dembe, spare me the mystical reassurance. Everything is not fine. Where the hell was the perimeter defense at that damn church? You should have deployed four teams, five teams. Look at her- lying there in this barbaric situation with her child’s life at risk. Everything is not fine. She never should have been at that Godforsaken church.

I’m sorry, Dembe.

I’ve done nothing for you, Lizzy. Red: It’s the children whom the world almost breaks who grow up to save it. Liz: I don’t want that for her. Red: I wasn’t talking about her. I was talking about you, Elizabeth.

Come on, Lizzy. Please, don’t go. Please, don’t go.

Tom: Her name is Agnes. Red: That’s a good name.

Everyone dies someday.

It was a Hobson’s Choice. There was a woman and her child. Both were doomed. Both would die. I could either save one or lose both. I chose the child. It was- it was the worst thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. Worst thing by far.

Red: There’s always a choice. I was arrogant. I presumed that there was an order to things, that there was... that if I nourished and protected and taught the child, she would be safe... ...and happy. Katarina: And she was neither. Red: No matter what I tried to do, all I brought her was misery and violence, and eventually... Katarina: Death. Red: Yes. Katarina: And now you’re dead. You believe there’s nothing left for you. Red: It’s that obvious?

Katarina: Have you ever killed anyone? Red: That’s an odd question. Katarina: Have you? Red: Yes. Many. But never anyone who didn’t deserve it. Katarina: Me, too. Red: I know. Katarina: How? Red: There aren’t a lot of us. You learn to recognize it. Red: There was a woman I loved. She was... my life. My heart. And she died. She left behind a little girl. One last, precious piece of herself. I would give anything to be a part of that child’s life, but a man made it clear I would never see her... hold her... watch her grow. And I knew in that moment, I would never be any part of that beautiful little girl’s life. Because... Katarina: He was her father. Red: And to harm him would be to harm her. A mortal sin. Her mother is gone. The father is what she has left in the world. Katarina: Her father. Red: Yes.

Katarina: Those men are after me. It’s my problem, not yours. Red: You made it my problem the moment you walked into the ocean.

Just me.

To Katarina, love Papa.

I’m sorry.

As soon as the name “Masha Rostova” hit the 24-hour news cycle, they came for her. I thought I could...protect her. I did protect her, all these years. I’ve anticipated almost every threat. But this one...a medical complication in childbirth.

I’d imagine it to be a challenge, playing Rachmaninoff’s C-sharp minor Prelude without the benefit of C-sharp.

I’m sorry for the intrusion. Let me give you some money, please. Could you pick up a single malt? Preferably from the Highlands, but not Islay. The water there tastes like seaweed and iodine.

I was just imagining young Katarina covered in glitter. As an adult, it’s easy to dismiss this stuff as girlish frivolity. You forget the wonder it creates, the light captured, secret wishes evoked. It renders even the darkest days sparkly. Never underestimate the power of glitter.

She had your temper.

To pay... my debt to you would require more than I possess. I’m not coming back.

Red: Ugh. How do you drink this stuff? Dom: We drank it with every meal on the farm when I was a boy. But we had cows, and we made our own. In the summers, we made buttermilk pops in the freezer. Kept us all from passing out. Red: So buttermilk reminds you of home. Dom: I overheard your conversation with the Arab boy. Red: He’s from Delaware. You won’t be troubled again with unexpected visitors. I know how you value your privacy. Dom: Why didn’t you go with him? Red: What would be the point? There’s nothing I could do that would really matter. Dom: Cry me a river. Hmm? What the hell are you really doing here? Alright... you gave me the news about Masha. What do you want from me? Red: A way forward. I can’t live for long with what I feel inside. I don’t see how anyone can.

Dom, you’ve always had a good reason to walk out the door.

Red: I’m here to pay my debt to you, Aram. Aram: You’re back. Red: Strap on your bike helmet. We’re going to work.

Boy, I can’t wait to hurt you someday.

Elizabeth Keen was well hidden from the demons of her past until you went after her, until you told the world she was Masha Rostova. You put a target on her back and invited someone to take a shot. Do not try my patience, Laurel. On this topic, I have perilously little of it.

Oh, my, yes. Laurel’s as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. Friends and loved ones are dead. I need to speak with Scottie about the matter. I sent her a message. She ignored it. She’s scared. Can be a terrible thing for all when someone as ruthless as Scottie gets scared. I need you to reach her for me, Bradley. I trust you would get through to her. I need her to pay attention to this.

Red: They say gifting a bouquet of daffodils ensures happiness, while presenting just one means bad luck is on the horizon. Cynthia: Okay, boys. I hope you’re hungry. I have a triple crème, some Jarlsberg, water biscuits, and my mother’s famous cucumber dip. Red: That sounds delicious, Cynthia. Tragically, there’s no time for snacks. Well, maybe some of Mom’s famous cucumber dip.

Red: A nanny movie? Cynthia: Not just nannies. Schoolteachers, nurses, and a ridiculous threesome with two completely unbelievable policewomen. Samuel: Cynthia, they’re just movies. I have never cheated on you. And besides, I don’t think he wants to hear about it. Red: Yes, I want to hear about it. All about it. Unfortunately, I do need to hear about your contract with Halcyon. So- business first. And then, Cynthia, I’ll be all ears.

Red: Harold, smile. We’re this close. Cooper: I’ll task a team to stake out the docks. As for a smile... how are you holding up? Red: As long as we keep moving forward, I’ll endure.

Red: I once spent part of the summer in Bermuda. The island. Certainly not the shorts. Not a lot to do there except ride motor scooters and play checkers with the locals. I’m more of a chess man myself. But one tactic that came naturally was the concept of forced capture... sacrificing a checker to force your enemy in one direction while your forces lie in wait for the exquisitely satisfying double jump. One quick look at the airport schematics revealed why Scottie chose the lounge on Concourse F. Conveniently located near a little-used loading dock. Shall we? Armstrong: Please! Don’t kill me. Red: I said “double jump.” You’re merely the first capture. Please, if you would.

God, that door is slow. I was hoping for a somewhat more dramatic entrance, but what the hell. Scottie. Aren’t you the challenging woman to pin down.

Red: You know, I used to have such high hopes for your organization. High hopes for Howard. Halcyon was once such a promising company... like AOL. Put an entire generation online. Companies can so easily lose their way. Forget what it was that made them great to begin with. I remember a time when your husband never would have taken a job from a man like Alexander Kirk, if only out of respect for his friends. Scottie: Howard didn’t take that job. We haven’t had sex in four years. We’re rarely in the same country, let alone the same bed. Red: What bed have you been occupying? Scottie: I’ve been assuming a larger role in a management position lately. Red: You don’t say. Scottie: We’ve never been more successful. Listen, Red... I regret what happened to Elizabeth Keen. But her kidnapping was simply a business decision. You of all people should recognize that. We all do what we have to in order to survive. I know Howard and I do. Red: Survival is all relative. There are limits, even for people like us. Especially for people like us. Scottie: When Kirk hired us to abduct Masha, he also wanted me to kill you. Sorry I didn’t take that job. Red: Here’s where we stand. Elizabeth Keen is dead, which means you are, too. Alexander Kirk is coming to kill you. The only surprise is that I got to you first. Scottie: You killed a lot of people trying to reach me. Well, here I am. Finish what you came to do. Red: You have it all wrong, dear. I didn’t come to kill you. I came here because you and I are about to climb into bed together, just for a quickie. We now share a mutual enemy. So, let’s get you bandaged up, not that you aren’t even lovelier with a little blood trickling down your arm.

Red: Tom, I want to speak with you about your daughter. Tom: What happened with Hargrave? Red: Even if you don’t want me to have contact with Elizabeth’s child... Tom: Hargrave. Did you get her? Red: I have virtually unlimited resources. I want you to know that those resources are at your disposal in the raising of Agnes.

Until it’s not. The aid workers who were abducted in Jakarta? Your government refused to pay the ransom, turned its back on three young people who were captured for doing nothing more than providing medical services to the poor. Today, they’re home because Susan Hargrave committed what your government considers to be a crime in order to get them back. She’s a brilliant strategist. And if we want to get Alexander Kirk, we’re going to need her help to do it.

I think you’re responsible for her death. I’m looking past that because I want Alexander Kirk’s head. And so does Tom Keen. I must admit, I’ve never liked you, Scottie. Looking at you makes my toes curl. But robbing the next President of the United States? This is gonna be a gas.

Red: Senator! Having taken your money, I won’t take much of your time. Unlike Scottie, I have little use for politicians and even less for their politics. Who occupies the White House is of no interest to me. I tell you this so you know that taking your money has nothing to do with you or what you stand for. Truth be told, I haven’t the foggiest clue what you stand for, Senator. Diaz: I’m calling the police. Red: Might be more prudent to call Alexander Kirk. I’m sure you have a contributor of his stature on speed dial. Call him. Kirk: Senator, what a pleasure. Red: I have your money. I have your senator.

Red: Don’t do it. Tom: There’s nothing left to do. Red: Tom. Tom: We needed the money to get to Kirk. We got it. We have no use for her anymore. Red: If you kill her, the answers you’ve been looking for your entire life will die with her. Tom: What are you talking about? My mother. Red: Yes. Which is why I didn’t want you involved. Tom: Why didn’t you tell me? Red: You have a child to raise, Tom. If you start asking questions, it will put her at risk, it will put you at risk. Tom: But her son is dead. She told me that herself. Red: Christopher Hargrave went missing when he was only 3 years old. Tom: Christopher... Hargrave. Is that my name? Red: Susan Hargrave genuinely believes her son is dead. Tom: So, she has no idea who I am? What, did somebody fake my death, and hide me from her all these years? W-why would anybody do that? Red: Listen to me, Tom. Susan Hargrave has many secrets. Some of them concern you. If you want answers, you must conceal your true identity.

Red: A good man could make a real difference as President. A good man might even inspire one’s patriotic instincts, but a good man would never allow himself to be put under obligation to anyone willing to write a big check. Diaz: You just had me accuse Kirk of something he didn’t do. What makes you so sure he’s gonna show up? Red: Don’t underestimate yourself, Robert. One way or another, I’m confident Kirk will come. I’ll have his head, and you’ll end up in the Oval Office where you can pay off your debt to me with a full pardon. Diaz: You expect me to pardon you. Red: Not me. Elizabeth Keen. Diaz: The FBI agent... who murdered the attorney general. She’s dead. Red: Yes. And I want things put right.

Cooper: That’s why you hijacked it before it made it into evidence. Red: No. I hijacked it because... I’m a criminal. I’m parting with it because Alexander Kirk needs to be killed, and if it takes planting a little evidence on him... so be it.

Red: Powerful sermon, especially for an old faker like yourself. Barnhill: I know it’s important for you to know what’s moving where, but damn it, Red, I’m three ex-wives into this ministry. Red: And seven children. You’re like a rockstar without the income. Barnhill: And I appreciate your help with the child-support payments. I do. Red: The Good Book.

What’s the difference between the pastrami swiss cheese dog with sauerkraut and the Reuben dog? Aren’t those the same? Honestly, the amount of options overwhelms. So it’ll be one Chicago double dog, hold the pickles, and one, uh... the uh, Brooklyn Baconeer with cheese. Oh, and throw in some of those house-made sea-salt chips. What do you recommend on the dessert front? You know what? Toss in two of those little fried pies. You only live once, right?

Red: These charges against Alexander Kirk for financing terrorism are ludicrous. And no one’s gonna touch him for what happened to Elizabeth. So I’m gonna kill him. He won’t live long enough to see the inside of that hearing room. I’m gonna kill him the instant he steps out of his vehicle. You and I both know nothing less will protect Agnes and avenge Elizabeth’s death. Cooper: Red... how can I - Red: Harold, you and your people... I will always be more grateful than I could ever express, but I don’t expect... or rather, I couldn’t accept your involvement in this final act. Cooper: I entered into this relationship with my eyes wide open. So did Agent Ressler and the others. Red: I admire that about you, Harold. I know so many zealots, men and women who choose a side, an ideology by which to interpret the world, but to get up every single day and do the hard work of deciding what to believe, what’s right today, when to stand up or stand down... that’s courage. It’s been a privilege to see firsthand why the people you lead love you the way they do. But sadly, our time together has come to an end. Cooper: On this case. You don’t mean... Red: I do. We’ve done some good work. But with Elizabeth gone... there’s nothing more for me to contribute. Please, take care of yourself and the others. Charlene. Aram... set him up with someone, for God’s sake. He’s like a kid with his first erection on the school bus.

Red: Agent Ressler. Aren’t you the dog on a scent? Ressler: There was one empty building with a line of sight to the front and one to the back. Started with the front. Red: You spoke to Harold. Ressler: Reddington, grab the guy, put him in a hole, get what you need from him, but don’t kill Kirk. Red: There’s nothing I care to take from Alexander Kirk except his life. Ressler: Trust me. I want him as badly as you, but- I’m not gonna let this happen. Red: Oh, this is gonna happen, Donald. This is gonna happen in about 10 minutes.

Red: You want justice for Elizabeth. Ressler: Justice, not vengeance. Red: In my experience, they’re the same. I know how difficult this must be for you, Donald. Ressler: I will do this. Red: You have faith. I envy that. Justice, integrity, faith in humanity... nobody embodies those principles more than you. And I know it must be hard for you to believe that you’ll continue to embody those principles even after you watch me do this. Ressler: Oh, this isn’t about me. This is about the rules... what’s right. Red: When Elizabeth was a fugitive, you played by the rules, did what you thought was right. But Elizabeth’s gone. Alexander Kirk took her away from us, and she’s not coming back. Ressler: Take your hands off that trigger. Red: What do you think’s going to happen if you stop me, Donald? That you’ll arrest Kirk? That justice will be done? Ressler: Let go of the weapon. Red: Do you want a bullet in Alexander Kirk’s head or one in mine? Decide now. What’s it going to be, Donald?

Kaplan!

Red: I have nothing for you, Kate. No parables about loyalty, no florid speeches of trust belied, deception, treachery, or false devotion. I’m simply too bereft. It will have to suffice to say... I would name every human being on the planet before you if asked who might betray me. Kaplan: Raymond... Red: I know what you’ve done. I know you helped Tom and Agnes leave the country without my knowledge. Kaplan: Yes. Red: Yes. Kaplan: What do you want to know, Raymond? If I’m sorry? Yes. I’m sorry you weren’t more honest with Elizabeth from the beginning. I’m sorry you wanted to know her so desperately that you convinced yourself we could keep her safe. I couldn’t sit back and watch you make the same mistake with Agnes. I didn’t betray you. I did what I’ve always done... protected you... this time, from yourself. Red: You’re wrong. Kaplan: I won’t tell you where they are. Red: You don’t understand, Kate. I know where they are, and so does Alexander Kirk. Kaplan: Kirk? Red: He was tracking Tom. He knows they’re in Cuba. He’s flying there as we speak. Kaplan: No. Red: I need an address. I know you had her best interests at heart, that you were trying to protect her, but now, because of you, Agnes is in grave danger. Kaplan: Not just Agnes.

I saw her die.

I sat over her body... and watched her die.

Had it really come to that?

Kate. What am I gonna do with you, Kate?

#redtimestories

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simusks · 8 years ago

Text

LaLu Week Day 2

Prompt: War.

Word Count: 3246

Characters: [Laxus, Lucy]

When Lucy had walked in the front door, she could sense it.

Something was most definitely not right.

Looking both left and right she tip-toed past the kitchen, into the living room, her eyes drifting around. "What the fuck did you do now?"

She stepped into the bedroom, opening the door and stepping to the side, waiting for something to fall from the ceiling. She bent at the waist looking in all directions. Lucy tip-toed over to the bed, pushing on different corners, waiting for something to happen.

She moved herself into the bathroom, turning the tap on slowly. When nothing happened she hesitantly picked up the soap, sniffing it.

"Still the same."

Walking to the toilet, she lifted the lid, looking from all angels to see if he had put cling film over it. She flushed it once. Twice. Three times for good luck.

Frowning Lucy moved to the shower, the one place that he always resorted to. Taking the first bottle of shampoo, Lucy rubbed a bit on her arm. When nothing happened, she took the conditioner, doing the same. When she rinsed it off, Lucy looked on with satisfaction as a patch of her arm hair washed off.

She threw the bottle into the trashcan, the bottle going in effortlessly. She took her body lotion, rubbing it on her other arm. While she waited she unscrewed the top of the shower head, checking in the filter for anything suspicious.

Frowning, Lucy screwed it back on. She checked her arm, shaking her head at the darkened skin on her arm. Chucking the bottle in the bin, she continued on her quest.

Her hair mask had green hair dye in it, something that irritated her when taking into consideration just how expensive the product was. Her soap bar was left untouched, her shaving cream had been replaced – with what she could tell – with hair mouse, her razor had had the blades taken out of it.

She didn't even risk her toothbrush – not wanting to know what her husband could have possibly done with it – immediately throwing it in the bin. She had more hidden anyway. After she had checked the remainder of the bathroom, Lucy sighed and had a shower, one free of malicious pranks.

When she got out, dressed herself in her comfiest pyjamas, slippers on her feet and her hair wrapped in a towel above her head.

Still, the feeling of unease did not go away.

Sighing in defeat, Lucy carelessly walked out of the bedroom, opening her laptop. She was feeling in the mood to write. Lucy frowned, moving her wireless mouse, trying to get the damn thing to work. Groaning she flipped it over, pulling the sticky note off the bottom of it.

"Really, Laxus? Couldn't be a little more creative?"

Besides her mouse moving unbearably slow, Lucy was quite content. She didn't really need her mouse anyway. Cracking her knuckles, Lucy read over the last chapter of her novel. When she made the necessary changes she missed while writing it, she began writing the new instalment.

It wasn't until she was done that she began editing, not wanting to lose her flow while writing it, that her mouse started thoroughly pissing her right off. She picked it up again, checking the bottom again, slamming it onto the mouse-pad a few times. Groaning, she tried moving it again, that same agonisingly slow pace seeming to fuck with her more and more with each passing second.

Opening her browser, Lucy began typing into Google.

Why is my mouse mov-

And then her computer screen flashed black, coming back on to display the restart screen.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no–"

Close tabs?

Automatic closing in process.

"Don't you fucking dare!" her eyes drifting to the bottom of the page:

Do you want to cancel restart?

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes–" she moved her mouse to the cancel button, it moving too slowly for her to actually reach it. Still, Lucy didn't give up, watching, eyes wide, as the automatic restart count was decreasing. And then her screen turned off. Coming back on with a loading page the word 'restarting' sitting proudly in the centre of the screen.

Lucy was very comfortable admitting that she stared at the screen for an agonizingly long five minutes. Even when the screen came back on, she didn't make an attempt to open the document.

Lucy stood, moving emotionlessly to the lounge, sitting down and staring straight into the dark screen of her TV.

"I didn't save." she mumbled. "I didn't save once." She laughed a little heh before it turned into a sob. Picking up her phone from the cushion to the left of her. Pressing on her husband's contact, she stared blankly at the numbers. And then the front door unlocked and in walked her husband, in all his smirking glory.

"Hello," he said, hanging his keys up on the hook. He took one look at her, another at the computer – at the untouched opening screen – and stifled a laugh. "That's for the ghost pepper cookies."

"My computer," she didn't look at him, keeping her eyes on the TV. "Is strictly off limits." She stood from the lounge, picking up her phone. "Put whatever you want in my shampoos, dye my hair any colour, shove my toothbrush as far up your ass as you want. But my computer," she looked at him, the iciest glare Laxus had ever seen was present on her face. "Is off limits."

Turning, she moved towards the bedroom. "Cook your own dinner. Good night."

Laxus may have been feeling a little bit guilty. As he sat in the living room, eating his dinner by himself, he reflected over everything that had led to this point. It had started off simple enough, Laxus had put baby powder in Lucy's hair dryer, and then she had retaliated by putting itching powder in his shoes when she knew he would be hiking.

And in that one retaliation, an all-out prank war had begun. And in the year that he and his wife had been at it, the pranks had slowly become more and more ruthless.

So, in order to get revenge after she had made his grandmother's cookies –with ghost chillies – he had stuffed around with some of her beauty products, all of which she had discovered. But, because Laxus was not a one-plan-only-man, he had called one of his college friends, Hibiki. Said man had kindly repayed Laxus an owed favour and had set Lucy's mouse to the slowest setting.

Oh and had programmed Lucy's computer to shut down each and every time she opened her Internet Explorer.

And maybe it had been a tad-bit mean, but revenge was revenge.

Which meant – from both the severity of the prank and Lucy's reaction – Laxus needed to watch his back. So, he called in his trusted ally.

She was on speed dial, and had picked up within the first two rings. "Levy, I need your help."

"What happened?"

"Lucy's very angry,"

There was a pause.

"I'll tell you as soon as I hear anything."

And then the librarian hung up.

Laxus and Levy's arrangement was a complete secret to Lucy. If the blonde found out that he was taking extra precautions – going as far as to get intel from his wife's best friend – then Levy wouldn't be told anything in the future. And that was something Laxus couldn't risk.

If he had no intel then he would have absolutely no way to prepare himself. And if he had no way to prepare himself…

Well he was well and truly fucked.

Lucy's favourite part of this prank war was the revenge part. More so the reaction than anything, but the planning, well that was fun too. The first thing she needed was an abundance of cotton balls. So she called one of her husband's best friends. "Hey Gajeel, how are you?"

"I'm not too bad, how are you doin, Bunny, heard about the BFG's prank yesterday. Sorry I couldn't help ya sooner."

Gajeel was her inside man. Not that Levy and Laxus knew – though they definitely thought she didn't know about their arrangement. But they still hadn't caught on to her and Gajeel's planning.

"You know that guy you get your supplies from?" she asked, "The one that gives you the good discounts?" The man was a childhood friend of the tattoo artist, one that gave him mass supply for cheap prices.

Just what Lucy needed.

He hummed, "What about 'im?"

"I'll pay you for everything, but I need you to buy. . . five-thousand cotton balls…" Hearing the silence on the other end she quickly added, "Please."

"Yea alright, but you gotta tell me what yer plannin."

Lucy giggled, "Of course."

"Alright, see ya, Bunny,"

Lucy grinned. "See ya!"

Lucy looked at the stand in front of her, looking down at her empty cart. At six dollars for a thousand, Lucy knew this was going to be ruthless. She took four bags, putting them in her cart before moving down the aisles and into the arts and craft section. Taking several tubes of glitter and adding them to the pile of sweet revenge, she moved to the register, ignoring the look the cashier was giving her.

There were many pros to having a split bank account, namely was the that neither spouse could see what the other had bought. Which meant that she could spend as much as she wanted on whatever she wanted, without having to worry about him seeing it.

It also meant that she could hire a storage garage and let these jelly balls grow without her husband knowing. So that's exactly what Lucy did.

After a short car drive she arrived at the storage warehouse and, after a pleasant conversation with the owner – who had guaranteed that there was in fact a water supply – led her to the garage she had hired. She had her supplies inside the staked tubs she had brought and set them on the floor, albeit one. She took the tub and filled it with water and then added the balls.

She continued until all the balls were inside the tubs. Then she slid the door down, locked it and returned home.

Laxus was on edge. Everyone had noticed, and everyone close to him understood why. And anyone else found out shortly after. He checked every room before he entered it and eyed everything suspiciously. When he had finally had enough – which was only after he picked apart the layers of his lunch, he dialled Levy's number.

"Has she said anything?" It was mumbled, and Laxus listened in the silence for any beeps that might indicate that Lucy had bugged his phone.

"The only thing she's told me is that you should definitely be worried."

Laxus groaned, sighing, "Great." He scowled, tipping out his mug of cold coffee – barely comfortable to admit to himself that he hadn't drunk it out of fear – "Just fan-fucking-tastic."

"I gotta go, Laxus, but I'll tell you if anything comes up."

After saying goodbye, Laxus hung up, locking the office doors and driving home.

It was while he was parked at a red light that he looked out his window. His wife's car was stopped next to him, waiting patiently for the light to turn green. He didn't need to roll down his window, because, as if sensing his stare, Lucy looked at him.

And then she smirked, her lips pulling up in a way that suggested she had well and truly won.

And Laxus was about ready to accept defeat.

Lucy had dropped into the library Levy worked at. It was quiet at this time of day, so – while still quiet – Lucy began chatting with Levy. It had started out perfectly fine, and then, oh so slyly, Lucy brought up Laxus' last prank. Lucy had to admit, Levy's shocked face was well and truly convincing, and if Lucy hadn't already known that her best friend and husband were conspiring against her, she would have fell for it.

"What are you doing for revenge?" Levy asked, giving her a wide-eyed look, "And I'm sorry about the chapter, Lu,"

Lucy waved her hand, "Don't worry about it, Levy," she smirked, "As for the revenge, well," she drawled out, "I might need your help."

Levy nodded excitedly, genuinely, "What do you need me to do?" she rolled back on the balls of her feet.

"I need you to convince Gajeel to take him out," Lucy grinned, "I just need one night, then everything will be in fine order."

"What are you up to, Lu?" Levy asked, apprehension clear in her voice.

Lucy shrugged, "I just wouldn't be wearing any of his going out clothes, that's all."

The conversation drifted soon after, and Lucy had excused herself, leaving the library so she could go and add more water to the jelly balls – not that she would tell Levy, of course.

So Levy waited until the coast was clear, pulled out her phone and dialled Laxus' number.

"Don't wear any of your fancy clothes, you're going out with Gajeel on Saturday night, buy an outfit. Do not wear anything you already have." She paused, "Goodbye."

When Saturday had in fact arrived, Lucy had been working while Laxus had had the day off. She had taken his car, making sure that when she arrived back home he wouldn't be there. It wasn't hard considering she had had to get the cotton balls from Gajeel – that had taken up the entire front seat and floor, as well as some on her lap – and the jelly balls from the garage, which had taken up her boot space and back seat.

And then she was at home, Laxus gone, having taken her car just as she had planned. She parked it in the driveway, stepping out, Lucy shivered. It was only six-thirty, but with winter drowning out the sun, it was already chilly, just as she had wanted.

She took the cotton balls out, stacking them on the driveway; she emptied the boot and back seat next to the cotton.

"It's gonna be a long night." She was grinning from ear to ear, shivering in the cold.

She put a hand on the front of the car, pulling it back quickly at the sharp coolness.

She took an extra tub, running over to the front yard tap and filling it. After Lucy managed to haul it back to the car, she took the first cotton ball. Squatting down low, she dipped it in the water and then pressed it to the bottom of the car. Like a tongue on a freezer, it stuck.

Lucy grinned maniacally, picking up the next cotton ball, continuing even when her hands were red and blotchy and had loss feeling.

After three long and cold hours, Lucy had managed to cover the entirety of Laxus' car. It looked like a walking fluff ball, and Lucy couldn't help but laugh looking at it. Opening the garage door, she drove in.

Grinning, Lucy ran inside, taking the glitter from her underwear draw, running back to the garage. She turned the car on, sitting on her calves so she was roughly Laxus' height. Turning on the heater, she began tilting the vents, making sure they all hit her face. Then she turned the car off, taking the little vials of glitter, she carefully lined each slot in each vent with purple, pink, blue, and green sparkles.

Stepping out of the car, she laughed once more at the appearance. Then, after dragging all the tubs of jelly balls and draining the excess water, she poured them into the car through the sunroof.

Once everything was done, Lucy put the tubs inside her car, locked the garage and the car, and stared at her work. Honestly though, Lucy thought it was a little underwhelming. So, taking the vials of glitter from its place on the floor, she emptied two of the vials inside the car, and with the rest, she emptied on the cotton balls.

Looking proudly at her work, Lucy went inside and slept like a baby, knowing Laxus would be far too tired to check on his car.

Laxus woke up pleasantly; Lucy was cuddled into his side, a long breath escaping her as she smiled softly. Leaning down he pressed a kiss to her hair, watching as her eyes flickered open. The soft smile was still on her face as she pulled him closer, her eyes closing again.

Yesterday was spent solely lounging around all day, as they had promised their Sunday's would always be. It was a nice change, he wasn't on edge, he was completely relaxed. Yes, definitely a nice change from his usual tenseness.

Turning his head Laxus checked the time, feeling his heart come out his ass, he jumped out of bed, pulling on the first clothes he could. "Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck."

Lucy awoke at the noise, staring at him pull a button up shirt over his shoulders. Checking the time, she felt her eyes widen, "You're a bit late, babe,"

"You don't say," he pulled on his shoes and ran into the kitchen, slamming two pieces of toast into the toaster.

Lucy followed him out, putting on her slippers and dressing gown in an attempt to fight the cold.

Hopefully the cotton balls stayed on…

He buttered his toast at lightning speed – not even putting anything else on them – and shoved the first piece in his mouth. He speed walked towards the door leading to the garage. He had parked Lucy's car outside on Saturday night, his car all by itself in the garage.

Lucy held her breath, her grin forcing its way onto her face.

Laxus flipped the light switch on, his head still facing their kitchen, "See ya later, babe, love–"

Lucy figured that Laxus had turned his head forwards at that point, because there was a frost in the air as everything froze, and then a strangled noise came from him.

"Lu-Lucy…" his tone sounded so defeated that Lucy almost felt bad.

Almost.

"How do you like it?" she grinned.

Growling, and no doubt scowling, Laxus ripped the driver's seat door open. Lucy stifled her laughter as the jelly balls tumbled out.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Laxus, with his large hands, started sweeping the balls out of the car, decorating the garage floor with them.

Decorating his pants with the glitter.

"You've got to be FUCKING shitting me!"

After clearing as much as he could, Laxus started the car, slamming the door closed, Lucy watched as one lonesome cotton ball fell to the ground.

Laxus ground his teeth together. He fucked with her laptop, so she did this? He would enjoy the revenge immensely. His arse was already getting cold, the jelly shit had apparently started leaking, and his vigorous sweeping had only managed to mush them further into the seat.

Grinding his teeth together, he wound down the window, turning the heater on, "I hope you're fucking–" Laxus coughed, rubbing his eyes and choking as something small and grinding made its way down his throat. Looking onto his lap, he glared at the glitter surrounding him, gagging and spitting out as much as he could.

He could see Lucy on the step, laughing away as if this was the funniest fucking thing the world had ever seen.

"You're a fucking dick!" And with that he sped out of the driveway.

Walking into his office shouldn't have been as shameful, but with the entire company seeing his car do an impersonation of a giant acid-tripping q-tip, then him getting out of it, more of that jelly bullshit spilling out of his car like it was a unicorn's seeping asshole. Then all of them seeing his tangled hair, wet arse, and the glitter covering the majority of his body, Laxus knew he was never going to live this down.

And maybe he could have overridden it all with his proud ego, if only his grandfather hadn't come in for a surprise visit. Because after everything that had happened, all he truly needed was his Grandfather seeing him while he looked like the fourth PowerPuff Girl. He had been laughed at, which, if the roles were reversed, he was sure he too would have done.

But his Grandfather had been silent. Eerily silent. And then his wise old voice had muttered something that had Laxus collapsing into a chair:

"I take it the married life is doing you well."

All Laxus knew was that Lucy not going to like the taste of revenge.

#lucyheartfilia #laxusdreyar #fairytail #lalu #lalu week #war #prank

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